


Can't Take My Eyes Off You

by lynsaneinthemembrane



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Amputee Eddie Kaspbrak, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Demi eddie kaspbrak, Demi richie tozier, Dismemberment, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Fix-It, Flashbacks, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Gay Sex, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, IT Chapter Two Spoilers, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pennywise (IT) is His Own Warning, Pennywise is gross, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Rimming, Seriously pennywise gets real gross youve been warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-10-28 11:49:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20778083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynsaneinthemembrane/pseuds/lynsaneinthemembrane
Summary: Richie Tozier hated truth or dare. It was a stupid game. A terrible, stupid game—albeit not one Richie was particularly bad at, especially considering his habit of always picking “dare.” Dares were easy, and he was willing to do just about anything to keep from picking “truth.” In his experience the questions that accompanied this choice were always in the same vein: Who’s your crush? Do you like anyone? Who is it?And those were questions Richie just wasn’t ready to answer—especially when the answer to those questions was sitting right next to him wearing tube socks and a fanny pack.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Been thinking about writing this fic as soon as I saw chapter 2. Gonna yeet the canon right out the window. I'll do my best to tag as I update. Comments/kudos appreciated as always.

Richie Tozier hated truth or dare. It was a stupid game. A terrible, stupid game—albeit not one Richie was particularly bad at, especially considering his habit of always picking “dare.” Dares were easy, and he was willing to do just about anything to keep from picking “truth.” In his experience the questions that accompanied this choice were always in the same vein: _ Who’s your crush? Do you like anyone? Who is it? _

And those were questions Richie just wasn’t ready to answer—especially when the answer to those questions was sitting right next to him wearing tube socks and a fanny pack.

If it were up to Richie, he’d never play truth or dare at all. Just to be safe.

But of course on this day, a boring old day when the Losers Club had absolutely nothing better to do, Richie was caught right in the middle of said game. So far he’d been made to lick a slug, drink a terrible concoction of various sodas and condiments, and snort some Pixy Stix powder. With his next turn quickly approaching, Richie wondered what other horrors his friends had in store.

“Ok, Richie,” Eddie said, voice low and challenging. “Your pick: truth or dare?”

“I’m gonna go with what your mom picked last night: dare!”

Eddie huffed and rolled his eyes, placing an impatient hand on his hip. _ Why does he have to be so cute? _ Richie pushed that thought deep down.

“You can’t always pick dare, it’s not fucking fun that way!”

“He-he-he’s ruh, ruh, right,” Bill agreed. “Wuh, w-we all puh, puh, picked truth ah, at least one-once.”

“Well I picked dare, so just give me my dare already!”

“I dare you to tell the fucking truth!” Eddie declared with a smug smile. Richie hated that he still looked cute, _ cuter _ even.

_ (go on richie let them know how much of a faggot you are) _

“That’s not fair—”

“Tough shit! I dare you to tell the truth about who you like.”

Richie’s stomach rolled over, and a heat began to creep over his face. After years of dodging this very question, here he was, put on the spot in front of his closest group of friends.

_ (don't answer that richie they're all gonna make fun of you they're all gonna know that you're a FAGGOT) _

For once, Richie Trashmouth Tozier had nothing to say.

“Are you gonna answer or just stand there with your fucking mouth hanging open?” Eddie demanded, while the rest of the group tittered impatiently. Beverly lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag and exhaling towards Richie face. “Don’t you know we’re playing a game here? Stop wasting everyone’s time and just answer the damn—”

“I like _ you, _ ok?” Richie blurted out, eyes watery. “You happy?”

Eddie fell silent, as did the rest. They all shared judgmental, questioning glances, before looking to Richie expectantly, as if waiting for him to shout _ sike! _The heat in Richie’s face turned into a straight burn and he almost considered running away. But it wouldn’t change the fact that the truth had been spoken aloud. The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity, and Richie was sure he was going to vomit.

And then Eddie started to laugh. The rest of the Losers followed, each guffawing as if Richie had told his funniest joke yet. Richie glared at them all, his stomach a pit of nausea and anxiety. He was about to tell them all where to shove it, when Eddie spoke again.

“Good one, Richie, real fucking funny. Time to be serious.”

“I _ was _ being serious." Richie’s voice could barely be heard over his friends’ laughter.

The group quieted down once more, giving Richie and Eddie a pointed stare. Richie didn’t know what he hated more, the piercing laughter or the heavy silence. Unable to meet their eyes, he fixated on his own shoelaces.

_ (this is what you get richie this is what FAGGOTS like you deserve) _

“Let me get this straight. You…like _ me? _ Like, _ like _ like me?”

Richie only nodded in response. He heard Beverly cough hoarsely. It sounded strange to him, too deep. 

“So, do you wanna kiss me, Richie?”

Eddie’s voice suddenly sounded wrong, distorted. Richie jerked his head up, to find his friend’s face not inches from his own. His face had taken on a deathlike pallor, great chunks of skin rotting away and exposing bone underneath. A black tar-like substance leaked from his eyes and nose, and from the corners of his mouth, as the thing that wasn’t his friend puckered it’s lips.

Richie staggered, his back hitting the clubhouse wall. A scream tried to rip from his throat but the sound refused to come out. His friends were laughing now, louder and louder until it felt like Richie’s eardrums might burst, each of their faces also disfigured like the thing that was not quite Eddie Kaspbrak. It jerked closer to him, a horrible smile full of jagged teeth stretching too wide across the familiar features as It pinned him to the wall in a wormy grip. It's breath was hot against Richie's neck, stinking of the sewer, all wet and rotten. 

“Beep beep, Richie.”

Richie awoke with a start, cold-skinned and gasping, slick with sweat. Hands groped in the dark until he found his glasses on the bedside table, clumsily setting them on his face. He blearily made his way to the bathroom, blinking against the harsh light as he flicked the switch. Richie tried to remember his nightmare as he pissed, but like water cupped in his hands, it slipped from his mind. By the time he started brushing his teeth, he had forgotten about it completely. 

Hours later Mike Hanlon would call, and Richie Tozier's stomach would churn with nausea, and he would remember the nightmare in terrifying detail. The contents of said stomach would spill as he succumbed to that overwhelming feeling. After the first round of vomiting, Richie would excuse himself, assure Mike he was still on the line, and promise that he would be on the first flight to Maine. 

# # #

The nausea that had started with that phone call persisted the entire trip to Derry, Maine—a trip that had been relatively painless thanks to his incredible travel agent. Richie made a mental note to get Carol something real nice for Christmas.

_ (if you even _ make _ it to christmas you’re gonna die in that little shit town) _

The thought was sudden and intrusive, sending shivers down Richie’s spine as he waited for his rental car. It stayed with him as he boarded the cherry red Mustang (because of _ course _ this was the car that Carol had booked for him, she knew him _ so _ well), and that shiver turned into anxiety that quickly bubbled into dread. Trying and failing to shake off the terrible feeling, Richie started the final leg on his journey home.

It didn’t take long for Richie to make the drive from Bangor to Derry, clocking in at just under a half hour. That sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach threatened to swallow him whole as he drove through the dreary little town, inklings of memories beginning to form. The Kissing Bridge sparked such memories—mostly bad ones—as he drove past it: most involved being chased by Henry Bowers and company, not always avoiding his ruthless beatings. There was something else about that bridge, something significant, that Richie just couldn’t put his finger on. He brushed off the thought, shoving it to the back of his mind where the rest of the garbage went.

What should have been a short drive felt like hours, but Richie finally found the Chinese restaurant that Mike had sent him the address to. The neon sign lit up his face in a wash of green and blue, reflecting off of his glasses as he sat in the car, once again fighting the urge to vomit. Some deep, primal part of him was urging him to run away, to peel out of that parking lot and never look back. But as Richie stared down to the scar on his hand, the scar that he had never really thought twice about, he just knew that he couldn’t leave. He had made a promise (never mind that he couldn’t quite _ remember _ what that promise was).

_ (but a promise is a promise richard my boy and a promise must be kept) _

It took several moments and a lot of deep breathing, but Richie did eventually exit the car. He was graced with the sight of a man and woman embracing, elated smiles across their face. Richie was thrown off by how their names immediately popped to the front of his mind: Beverly Marsh and Ben Hanscom. The ever-present dread lightened slightly as he recalled two of his dearest friends, racing bikes with them all across Derry, jumping into the Quarry in their underwear, that rock war they won against Henry Bowers and his goons.

Beverly and Ben weren’t the only ones in these memories. Richie remembered Mike being there too, and someone else…Bill? Yeah, Bill Denbrough—or as Henry and almost everyone else at their school had called him, Stuttering Bill. He knew there was more, but so much was still so hazy. But he remembered fearless Beverly and he remembered shy, chubby Ben.

Beverly was gorgeous as always, fiery hair coming just past her chin. Ben had grown _ tall, _and had shed all of the weight that had attracted so much bullying in his childhood. How could he ever have forgotten these two? And what else had been lost?

Richie watched them for a moment longer, before commenting with his signature self-deprecating humor:

“Wow, you two look _ amazing. _What the fuck happened to me?”

They broke apart, and somehow looked even happier to see Richie, if that was somehow possible. After another round of hugs, Richie gestured toward the door. 

“Shall we?”

# # #

The trio followed the host’s directions to the back of the restaurant, finding Mike and two other men with their backs turned. As soon as Richie spotted the gong, he rang it without even giving it a second thought.

“This meeting of the Losers Club has officially begun,” he declared, the term springing to his mind and out of his mouth with ease.

“Look at these guys!” a short man responded, as they all turned to face the three who had just walked in. 

Richie locked eyes with the man, a single thought blaring through his mind: _ Eddie fucking Kaspbrak. _

How the _ fuck _ did he forget Eddie Kaspbrak?

How could he have forgotten his first crush?

_ (if you could call _ that _ a crush you felt a lot more than just a crush more like how could you have forgotten your first lov—) _

Richie didn’t just push this thought away—he shoved it in a mental box, and then set that box on fire, because he was _ not _ going to deal with that right now. No, right now was time for Riche to do that familiar dance of deception that he now remembered had been perfected in his teen years. If not for his natural comedic talents, he surely would have excelled in acting. Even as an adult, Richie was still practiced in the art of distraction, masking his feelings and insecurities with humor.

Alcohol usually helped.

So Richie bought a round of shots, then another, and then _ another _, and then the night really got going. The Losers Club, as they had called themselves when they were kids, fit together like a long-forgotten puzzle. It wasn’t long before Richie and Eddie were going at it like old times, bickering and bantering like they had never been apart. As the night wore on though, it was harder and harder for Richie to suppress the sudden surge of memories that grew stronger with each passing moment. 

Richie remembered the exact day he realized he <strike>_(was in love)_</strike>had a crush on his best friend. It had been the summer before...It had happened. Before the Losers.

_After avoiding what most certainly would have been a vicious encounter with Henry Bowers, Eddie and Richie had been tramping through the Barrens, trying to stay hidden. Eddie had lost his inhaler in the chase, and was panicking from the scolding he would earn from his insufferable mother. Richie had tried to joke with his friend, anything to distract him— but all attempts had proven futile. And then Eddie began hyperventilating and for a moment Richie was terrified that he might actually have an asthma attack right then and there. He didn't know what had possessed him to grip each of Eddie's shoulders, stare deep into those wide, panicked eyes, and assure him that things were going to be ok, that he could get a new inhaler, and that his mom wouldn't even be that mad (although both boys knew that last one was a flat out lie). Much to Richie's surprise, it worked. Eddie's breathing started to even out, and the fear that had enveloped his eyes faded. After a beat, Richie released his grip. Eddie looked up at him from under his long eyelashes and offered him a nervous smile—a smile that just about knocked all of the air out of Richie's chest. And in that moment Richie knew: he'd do anything to make Eddie smile like that for him again. In that moment, Richie _knew.

And as Richie drunkenly arm-wrestled his best friend, he _ remembered. _

Eddie _ fucking _Kaspbrak. 

It had always been Eddie Kaspbrak. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pennywise get real gross in this one, fair warning. 
> 
> This chapter practically wrote itself. Poor Richie can't catch a break.

Richie Tozier was no stranger to insomnia. As a matter of fact, he and insomnia were _ very _ well acquainted; the best of friends one might say. And on this particular night—his first night back in Derry in a couple of decades—his good ol’ pal insomnia was delighted to pay him a visit. He couldn’t say he was surprised, considering the series of events that had unfolded in the last twenty-four hours. Being back in Derry was bad enough. Now add in Stan’s suicide and those fucked up fortune cookies at that restaurant, and Richie had himself a good old fashioned trauma sundae. Instead of whipped cream, it was topped with just a dash of terrifying murder clown. _ What a fucking treat. _

And then there was Eddie. 

Eddie Kaspbrak. Richie would have been on the first flight back to Malibu if it weren’t for that bastard. That beautiful bastard, with those deep brown eyes, that breathtaking smile, his cute little nose— Richie flopped around, trying to shake those thoughts away. But there was no denying it: he had it _ bad. _ As traumatizing as the evening had turned out to be, Richie couldn’t stop thinking about Eddie. How easily they had slipped into their old roles, teasing and quipping with each other, funnier than any of Richie’s standup routines. How Eddie’s hand felt in his own—warm and smooth—gripping tight as they arm wrestled and laughed, laughed harder than Richie had in months. How _ ecstatic _ he was just to be in the same room as Eddie. Richie wanted to swim in that feeling, wanted to drown in it. 

_ (or you could drown in the river like that other faggot and get eaten by a fucking clown) _

Richie, who had been attempting to sleep to no avail, snapped his eyes open. He stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment, when his stomach lurched violently. He stumbled out of bed, still drunk and nearly blind without his glasses. His shin rammed painfully against the corner of the bed in his haste, earning a loud jumble of curses. He somehow made it to the toilet in time, vomiting a terrible mixture of partially digested egg rolls, fried rice, and a lot of whiskey. He prayed to the porcelain gods for a long minute, before his stomach somewhat settled back into the dull ache of anxiety. 

Leg throbbing, Richie planted himself on the restroom floor, not trusting his body. If there was another round coming, he was going to be ready for it this time. He felt pathetic there, like a squashed roach that lay long-forgotten in the gutter. Minutes passed—or was it hours? Richie had no idea how long he really was on that floor—and just when he had actually began to doze lightly, there was quick rapping at his door. 

Richie jerked to his feet too fast, and would have fallen right back down again if he hadn’t caught himself on the vanity. His body swayed as he walked almost as if in slow motion to the door. Forgetting he wasn’t wearing his glasses, Richie tried to look through the peephole, seeing only a blur. He paused for a moment, then jumped violently when whoever 

_ (or whatever) _

knocked again. 

“Richie?” 

Eddie’s voice. Richie breathed a deep sigh of relief, although his heart was still thudding in his throat. His hand scrambled for the deadbolt, taking a few tries to get it unlocked. _ Why _ had he gotten so drunk? After what felt like eternity, he finally got the door open, squinting at the blur that was Eddie. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you up—”

“What else did you mean when you knocked on my door at three a.m.?” Richie cracked, pulling an exaggerated grimace. 

“Ah, shut the fuck up asshole, let me in,” Eddie snapped, brushing past him. “We need to talk.” 

Richie shut and bolted the door, heart still beating wildly as he carefully made his way back to the bed. His head was beginning to throb, a combination of the liquor and being without his glasses for so long. He groped around the bedside table, finding nothing. He felt a sudden warmth and knew Eddie had moved closer to him. 

“Looking for these?”

Richie thought his heart was actually going to exit his body via his mouth when Eddie thrust his glasses onto his face. He blinked blearily as his surroundings came into focus, to find Eddie standing right in front of him. His eyebrows were contracted so close together they almost formed a straight line, and his eyes were hard as he stared into Richie’s. It was similar to the expression he wore as Beverly talked to Stan’s wife, when they found out…. Richie swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing prominently. 

“Uh, everything alright there, Eds?”

_ “Don’t _ call me Eds.” There was a beat. “Listen, Richie, we need to talk.” 

“Well, that sounds a lot better than what I was just doing.” Richie glanced at the open restroom door, and grimaced for real this time. “So, uh, let’s talk?”

Eddie looked down for a moment, then fixed Richie with that same intense stare. 

“I been remembering a lot of stuff, Richie. Lot of weird stuff.” 

“Welcome to the Loser’s Club.” 

“Richie, I’m serious. Lots of stuff, you know, about you and me.”

Eddie’s eyes fell once more, and Richie’s heart was dancing pirouettes in his ribcage, mouth suddenly drier than the Sahara Desert. He couldn’t meet his eyes when Eddie finally looked up again. 

“Do you remember that night in ninth grade? Your parents were out of town and got you an overnight babysitter. You were so fuckin’ pissed, ‘cause you were fourteen and your parents still didn’t trust you alone at the house—” 

“And you stayed over so I wouldn’t have to be alone with that weird-ass old lady they hired.” 

Richie caught his eyes again, and was relieved to see that Eddie’s face had relaxed. He hated seeing him how he was before, seeing him so _ scared. _

“What else do you remember about that night?” Eddie pressed.

Richie thought hard for a moment. The memory, which had started as a trickle, suddenly flooded through his consciousness like a burst pipe. 

_ They had stayed up all night, reading comics, eating junk food—general teenage boy antics. Just another sleepover. Richie remembered how they had invited the remaining Losers who still lived in Derry, Mike and Ben, but both had been unable to make it. Richie also remembered how very not disappointed he was to have a one-on-one sleepover with just Eddie. He had learned to savor such moments, they were few and far between. _

_ Richie then recalled when Eddie had offhandedly mentioned some girl who allegedly had a crush on him. That was Richie’s first experience with pure, unbridled jealousy. It was white hot and powerful, and Richie was afraid that it would spill over and consume him if he let it. _

_ “I can’t believe she likes me, that’s so fucking gross,” Eddie had said, almost instantly quelling that jealous fire. “What if she wants to kiss me, what the fuck am I supposed to do?” _

_ “You could always practice with that dog that wanders around here,” Richie fired, making kissing noises and pinching his cheek. _

_ “Get the fuck off of me you freak! I’m serious, Richie. What the fuck am I supposed to do if a girl wants to kiss me?” _

_ Richie realized that his friend was serious, and that fire flickered again. _

_ “Uh, I dunno, kiss her? Or don’t?” _

_ “Do you know how many germs are in your mouth? And what if her breath stinks? What if I throw up? What if she throws up?” Eddie was going a mile a minute, eyes wide and frantic. “What if…I’m bad at it?” _

_ “Those are all very real, not crazy scenarios to consider.” _

_ “You’re not fucking helping!” Eddie looked truly distressed now. “Richie I don’t think I’m ever going to kiss anyone.” _

_ “You kiss your mom every day!” _

_ They were reaching sensitive territory, and Richie was doing what he did best: deflecting with humor. He didn’t want to think about how every female pronoun Eddie used cut deep, or the fact that he desperately wanted to scream: _ Just kiss _ me _ you idiot! 

_ But Eddie was giving him the most reproachful look, and Richie thought maybe it was time to cool it on the jokes. He took a deep breath to mentally steel himself, trying for once to be at least a little mature. _

_ “Listen here, Eddie Spaghetti, you don’t have to kiss anyone if you don’t want to.” _

_ “Ugh, don’t call me that.” But Eddie did look slightly relieved, no matter how annoyed he sounded. Then his face changed, and to Richie he suddenly looked a lot older as he fixed him with a strange stare. “What if I _ do _ , want to kiss someone, though? And what if I still don’t know how?” _

_ “I guess we all have to learn sometime, right?” Richie said nervously, stomach flipping like an Olympian gymnast. _

_ There was a long pause, and neither boy could look the other in the eye. Eddie eventually announced that he was tired, and Richie lied and said he was too. After turning out most of the lights (except for a small lamp on the bedside drawer—no one in the Losers Club slept in the complete darkness for years after that fateful summer), the two boys clamored into Richie’s bed. With Richie’s most recent growth spurt it was a tight fit, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. And if Eddie had an issue with it, he never voiced it. So they slept together, a tangle of limbs. Richie dozed very lightly—more like a light meditation than actual sleep—hyper aware of their closeness. _

_ And then Richie had felt it. Eddie’s lips lightly brushing against his own. His eyes had shot wide open, Eddie’s face only in focus due to his closeness. His eyes were closed then, and Richie could count the freckles on his nose if he wanted to. Before he could even think or process what was happening, his lips moved seemingly of their own accord, pressing hard against Eddie’s. He recoiled for a split second, pulling back in surprise. And then they were kissing again, and Richie’s heart was racing, and his brain was screaming _ finally! _ and then it was over just as quickly as it had started. _

_ Eddie rolled over and pulled the blanket over his shoulder. Richie didn’t move, unsure of what had just happened, hoping to God that it might happen again. After a long, excruciating moment Eddie’s breathing slowed and Richie realized that he was sleeping. Richie didn’t sleep that night. _

Richie very suddenly realized how close Eddie had gotten to him. 

“I, uh, remember a lot,” he said slowly. 

“Do you remember this?” 

And then Eddie was kissing him, much different than the one they had shared as teenagers. This was something else, something adult, something _ hungry. _ And Richie returned that energy, not thinking, just acting. He had wanted this for so long, and he hadn’t even known. Sure, Richie had known he was gay for a long while now, but he still hadn’t found his way out of the closet yet. He may not have remembered Derry, but that deep, ingrained shame had somehow survived the amnesia. And sure, Richie had in fact had a few secret trysts over the years—nothing serious of course—but none of them even _ compared _to the way Eddie was kissing him right now. 

And then Eddie was pushing him back against the bed, climbing on top of him. Richie was painfully aware of how close their crotches were as Eddie straddled him, hands slipping under his pajama shirt to run up his chest. Richie was in shock, practically immobile save for his lips still moving furiously against Eddie’s. His poor heart couldn’t catch a break, now beating like a warm hammer in his throat. Eddie pulled away abruptly to gaze wildly at Richie, eyes shining. 

“I saw how you were looking at me tonight, Trashmouth,” he said in a low voice. 

Richie could find no words to respond. 

One hand stayed planted firmly on his chest, Eddie grabbed Richie’s chin and kissed him again, rougher than before. His lips tore away and placed a kiss along his jaw, moving quickly to his neck. Richie moaned as he bit down, hips bucking upwards in a desperate attempt to find friction. Eddie’s crotch stayed just out of reach, and Richie heard him laugh, a deep gravelly sound. Another bite on his neck, harder, _ too _hard, and Richie thought that he was going to draw blood. 

And then the smell hit him. That horrible, rotting smell. That wet smell.The smell of the sewers. 

A single red balloon floated up until it bobbed against the ceiling.

A scream ripped from Richie’s throat as he thrashed around. The thing that was Not Eddie laughed again, It’s grip around his jaw tightening. It pulled away from his neck with blood running down It’s chin, still wearing his best friend’s face as a mask. It was almost the perfect mimic, save for the wide, leering grin full of rows and rows and sharp, sharp teeth, perfect for ripping into flesh. 

“Isn’t this what you want, faggot?” It spat in Eddie’s voice. “Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?” 

Richie shut his eyes tight, muttering to himself: “This isn’t real, this isn’t real, _ this isn’t real!” _

“Not real, huh?” 

It pressed their hips together, and Richie’s body reacted in every way he didn’t want it to, bucking up into the motion. 

“It was real enough for you just now, wasn’t it?”

It’s nails, sharp and jagged, were pressing into Richie’s chest now, slowly raking down. Blood blossomed across his shirt, and Richie could only whimper in pure terror. The face it wore began to morph, features gnarled and twisted until It was unrecognizable, all teeth and bright yellow eyes. It’s mouth opened impossibly wide, wide enough to swallow Richie whole, and he was most certain that he was about to die. 

_ (didn’t even last one night now i’m never going to get to tell eddie I love him) _

It was drooling now, thick and ropy and disgusting. It dripped onto Richie’s face, and he felt that familiar turning in his stomach. Before he knew it, Richie was expelling anything that was left in his gut, directly into It’s horrible mouth. It let out a roar that could very well have been a gag, and that was all the distraction that Richie needed to shove It off of him. He made a mad dash for the door, cursing his past self for locking it. 

Shaking hands fumbled with the lock for the second time that night, and Richie’s timeframe was quickly dwindling. He didn't need to see it to know that of was staggering closer and closer with each passing second, breath hot and putrid. At last the door was open and he practically flew out, slamming it shut behind him. The knob started turning, and Richie held it tight. Then the entire door was shaking and Richie was screaming for help. Ben got there first, still impossibly handsome in a silk robe with matching pajama bottoms. He reacted quickly, grabbing the door knob and holding the door shut with all of his strength. Then Beverly and Bill were there. They all held the door shut until it stopped shaking, and even then they didn’t stop until they were absolutely sure it was done. 

“Holy fuck, was that _ It?” _ Eddie’s voice rang out from down the hall. 

They all turned to see him in the corner, trying to appear smaller than he already was, clearly terrified. Richie swallowed hard, avoiding his eyes. They all looked back to Richie. 

“Wuh, wuh, what ha-happened?” Bill asked. 

_ (i almost fucked that psychotic clown isn't that just something) _

“It was the fucking clown,” Richie choked out, still trying to catch his breath. “That motherfucking clown.”

Eddie shuffled down the hall cautiously. 

“Is it fucking gone?”

“I think so,” Beverly answered quietly, eyes not leaving Richie. “Richie, are you ok?” 

“Well I don’t mean to be _ that _person, but the customer service here is just terrible,” he replied weakly. “Talk about a wake-up call.”

They laughed, but Richie knew they were all still afraid. He sure as hell was. They all offered words of comfort— except Eddie who stayed pale and quiet. They all eventually retired back to their rooms, while Richie eyed his motionless door with distrust. 

Ben offered to let him sleep in his room, an offer that Richie took in a heartbeat. He couldn’t fathom the thought of being alone in that room again. It was only a few hours until daybreak, anyway. He spent the next few hours on the pullout sofa scrolling on his phone, reading his fans' outraged social media posts about the cancelled Trashmouth International Tour Dates. Somehow it didn't bother him one bit. 

Rich scrolled and tried not to think of the few moments before he realized Pennywise’s ruse. He tried not to think about how much he _ wanted _it, how easily he had let his guard down. How stupid he had been to believe that Eddie could have actually wanted him back. He tried not to think of that memory of Eddie kissing him in the middle of the night. He tried not to think about whether it was real or not. 

He tried not to think of all of these things. And failed miserably. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter really kicked my ass guys. Hope it was worth it. Y'all better get ready for shit to get wild with the next chapter.

Eddie Kaspbrak attracted many curious looks as he half-ran-half-walked back to his room at the Derry Town House. Covered in filth and smelling of death, he was ready to scrub his skin raw as soon as possible. The horrid taste of whatever that leper had vomited all over him was still in his mouth, no matter how many times he tried to spit it out.

_ (how about a blow job eddie i'll suck your cock for a quarter) _

His breathing hitched and his throat suddenly felt tight, and Eddie had to stop to lean on a fence for support. A quivering hand reached into his jacket pocket, withdrawing his brand new inhaler, identical to the one he’d use as a child. He removed the cap and brought it to his mouth, breathing in deep as he pressed down. Instant relief. His breath was even again, but his heart was still hammering after the encounter at the pharmacy. 

Hands still shaking, he shoved the inhaler back into his pocket, and glanced around. Eddie realized he was on the Kissing Bridge, covered in carvings and graffiti from years past. He stared for a moment, taking in the various proclamations of love peppered with the occasional obscenity. One gruesome phrase, though faded, stood out from the rest:

STICK NAILS IN EYES OF ALL FAGOTS (FOR GOD!)

Eddie grimaced, beginning to walk away, though his eyes were still on the bridge. As he walked he noticed another carving, right around waist level. 

R + E 

He froze in his tracks. All thoughts of the leper in the pharmacy left his mind. Memories rapidly floated to the surface of his consciousness, like bubbles rising from an antacid tablet as it dissolves in a glass of water. 

_ Eddie walked across the Kissing Bridge almost every day. He rarely paid attention to the graffiti anymore, finding it to be either boring or offensive. Until the day a new carving popped up, one that immediately caught his eye. R + E. His pulse had raced when he saw that, a blush creeping to his face. He ignored the feeling as much as he could, but could never stop himself from searching for that carving every time he passed it. His heart would skip a beat, and he’d walk by a little faster. _ That’s for someone else, _ he’d tell himself, _stop being stupid. 

_ Then one day Eddie caught himself doodling the letters on the margins of his notebook during class. He had frantically scribbled it away before anyone could see. Eddie Kaspbrak had a lot of issues, but having a gay crush on his best friend in one of the country’s most homophobic towns was not one he was ready to deal with. That coupled with his crippling fear of AIDs, the gay disease that would surely kill him if he wasn’t careful, and Eddie was ready to suppress these feelings for the rest of his life if he had to. _

_ And so he did. Or at least he tried. But Eddie could never deny himself the chance to be close to Richie, whether he was sitting next to him or clambering in the clubhouse hammock with him or sleeping in his bed. Every time it got harder and harder to contain those feelings that Eddie refused to believe that he had. Then there was that one night, when Eddie couldn’t stop himself and he kissed his best friend. He had thought he was asleep, thought he was going to get away just a little peck—just so he could know what it felt like—right until Richie had kissed him back. He hadn’t prepared for that, though in hindsight he should have realized it was a possibility. Nevertheless, it was an option that Eddie wasn’t ready for, and the kiss was over as quickly as it began. _

_ The next morning neither had addressed what had happened, and they never would. But that didn’t stop Eddie from obsessing over it, thinking about it almost every waking moment. He couldn’t get it out of his head, couldn’t stop replaying the feeling of Richie’s lips against his, rough and warm. He wondered if Richie thought about it as often as he did. He wondered if Richie was the one who carved that R + E. _

And now, in adulthood, Eddie was almost sure that Richie did in fact carve those letters. He thought of the leper in the pharmacy again, acutely aware of the fact that the vomit was drying down, stiffening his shirt as if it had been starched. Shuddering, he started back towards the Derry Town House, practically running the rest of the way. 

“Oh my god.” Beverly was walking downstairs as Eddie entered the building. “What happened to you?” 

“Nothing, everything’s fine,” he said quickly, slipping past her.

As he bounded up the stairs towards his room, Eddie saw Ben at Richie’s door. 

“Come on, Rich, we _ all _ need to be here for this to work!” 

“Nah man, fuck that! Getting murdered by a psycho clown isn’t on my agenda today!” Richie responded from the other side of the door. 

“What’s going on?” Eddie asked Ben, who shot him a concerned look. “I’m fine, just tell me what’s fucking happening.”

“Richie’s wants to leave. Please help me convince him to stay.” 

There was a burst of derisive laughter from Richie’s end. 

“Listen up, asshole!” Eddie barked back. “If we’re all staying here to fight this fucking clown, you are too!” 

“Fuck you!” 

“No, fuck _ you!” _

There was a beat, before Richie opened the door. He wrinkled his nose when he saw Eddie. 

“Gross man, what the fuck happened to you?” 

“I decided to try a new cologne. What do you _ think _ happened to me, idiot?” 

Richie sighed, defeated, casting his eyes down towards the floor. 

“I saw the clown again, too,” he admitted, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. 

“Well It looked more like a leper than a clown to me, but yeah, I saw It. And that fucker threw up all fucking over me. If you leave, all of that will have been for nothing.” 

“We gotta stick together on this,” Ben chimed in. 

“Yeah, what he said. Now either you stay, or we chain you to your fucking bed ‘til it’s time to fight this thing.”

“Kinky.” 

Richie waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Eddie rolled his eyes, hoping his face wasn’t as red as he thought it was.

“So does that mean you’ll stay?” Ben asked hopefully. 

“I guess I don’t really have a choice,” Richie said dejectedly. 

“No, you don’t,” Eddie agreed as Ben looked visibly relieved. His voice got low. “Richie, can we talk real quick?” 

There was a pause, and Eddie thought that Richie looked paler than usual. Ben’s eyes darted between the two of the, before he muttered something about Beverly and hurried away. 

“What’s up?” Richie said, voice cracking. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, avoiding Eddie’s eyes. 

“Richie, I’ve been thinking,” he began, but cut himself short. 

Eddie suddenly thought of Myra, waiting for him back in New York. She had been calling him relentlessly since he left. After the tenth call in two minutes, Eddie had turned off his phone. She had been hysterical when he told her that he had to leave, and for a minute he had been afraid that she wouldn’t let him out of their house. Myra, the woman Eddie had married. Myra, the woman Eddie had never truly loved. Myra, the woman Eddie had always secretly despised, the way he despised his mother. 

Forcing himself to focus and put those thoughts out of his mind, Eddie continued, “I’ve been remembering a lot of stuff—”

“Oh no, I am _ not _ falling for this again!” Richie cut him off, barreling over him in his haste to leave. Before Eddie could respond or react, Richie had disappeared down the stairs. 

“Richie!” he called after him, leaning over the banister, but he was gone.

“I’ll go after him,” Beverly called up to Eddie from the first level.

Nostrils flared, Eddie grumbled to himself as he retired to his room. Ok, Richie didn’t want to talk. Whatever. Maybe it wasn’t the right time anyway. Maybe it would never be the right time. Maybe things were better this way. Eddie hurried to the bathroom, running the shower. He quickly undressed, and stepped into the tub. The water—hot and soothing—beat down on his skin. He grabbed the complimentary bar of soap and lathered it in his hands until it was nice and sudsy. It felt so good to finally wash away all that filth. 

_ (you have a very weak system eddie so it’s very important for you to always stay nice and clean) _

Eddie could have stayed under that hot water for the rest of his life. He tried not to think of the leper, or the Kissing Bridge, or how strange Richie was acting. Instead he clung to that memory of that secret kiss, replaying that moment in his head the way he used to when he was a teenager. 

“Eddie?” 

Richie’s voice cut through his memories like a knife, and Eddie jumped, almost slipping. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he cried out. “What the fuck is your problem Tozier?”

“I’m trying to give Pennywise a run for his money.” 

“Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” 

“I did, but you didn’t answer. So I let myself in. You still wanna talk?” 

“Maybe not when I’m in the fucking shower. Common sense ain’t so common, huh?”

“Why don’t I just join you?” 

For once, Richie didn’t sound like he was joking. Eddie gulped, and even in the heat of the shower, his face was on fire. 

“Real funny, asshole,” he forced out, licking his lips. 

“What’s so funny?” 

The shower curtain moved, and then Richie was there with Eddie, naked as the day he was born. Eddie jolted, hands shooting down to cover himself. Richie laughed, ducking his head under the water and pushing his hair out of his face. Eddie stared at him incredulously; this was fucking weird, even for Richie.

“Richie, what the _ fuck?!” _

“Relax, I can barely see shit without my glasses,” he said smoothly. 

“That’s not the fucking point, dickwad. Richie, get _ out!” _Eddie hissed, averting his eyes to the shower floor. 

“I thought you wanted to talk.” 

Eddie tried to focus on the water as it ran the drain. But the drain reminded him of the sewers, and a shiver ran up his spine despite the heat of the water. Although he knew it was a mistake, he glanced up for a moment—regretting that decision almost immediately. Richie was glorious under that running water, nude body glistening. Any other thoughts flew from his mind; all he could think of was Richie, how badly he wanted to kiss him again, how badly he wanted—

“Earth to Eddie. You alright, bud?” 

“No I’m not fucking alright! You just jumped into my shower! Richie, please _ leave,” _ Eddie insisted, although his body was asking for something else entirely. Thank God his hands were still covering cock, which was beginning to reveal his true desire as it began to stiffen. 

“C’mon Eddie Spaghetti, I just want to talk. Sorry about how I acted earlier. I’m just scared.” 

Somehow, Richie had managed to surprise Eddie even more. He wasn’t used to him being this open. Before he could respond, his friend continued. 

“And I’ve been having all these memories…about a lot of things. About us.” 

Eddie nodded, suddenly aware of how much closer Richie was to him than before. His breath hitched and he thought of his inhaler, still in his jacket pocket. 

“I-I think I know what you’re talking about,” Eddie admitted, voice barely above a whisper. 

Richie was right in front of him now, wet skin not an inch away from his own. 

“This might be our last chance, Eddie. We could die tonight,” Richie’s voice was low. 

Eddie tried to step back but was met by a wall. Richie’s skin finally met his own as he placed both hands on either side of Eddie’s face. His head dipped down, and their lips met. Eddie put up no protest as Richie kissed him fiercely, the water gently beating down over them. It was infinitely better than any memory could ever be, and Eddie was ready to savor every moment of this. To his horror his mind flitted to Myra again, the way she used to kiss him, the way it used to make him feel sick. 

All thoughts of her were expelled, however, as Richie pulled him closer, bodies pressing against each other. Eddie’s hand moved up to wrap around his back, holding him tight as their lips continued to move together. It was a moment before they finally broke apart, chests heaving. Richie’s lips curled back into a smile. 

“Looks like the feeling is mutual,” he purred, before catching Eddie’s lips in his own once more. 

His mouth moved down after a moment, pressing against his neck. Eddie sighed wantonly, reveling in the feeling of Richie’s lips against his skin as they skillfully nipped and kissed their way down his chest. Any insecurities or fear of judgement melted away, and Eddie was finally ready to give in to years and years of suppressed feelings. It didn’t occur to him that things may be moving too quickly, all he could register was that unyielding desire that he had bottled up for so long. A low burning that had built up in his groin was growing into a roaring blaze, and Eddie’s erection was now full and throbbing. 

And Richie’s lips were traveling further and further down, moving agonizingly slow. Eddie’s gripped his soaking wet hair, marveling as he stared down. Richie looked up at him, and Eddie screamed. Eyes filled with long, rusty nails ogled back at him, bleeding a horrible black liquid. Richie’s lips had rotted away, revealing blackened teeth. Great clumps of hair came back with Eddie’s hand as he jerked it away, kicking the thing that was _ not _ Richie Tozier in the face. It fell back, cackling horribly as it did so. Eddie scrambled out of the shower, too distracted by what had just unfolded to notice the shadow waiting for him. 

Henry Bowers stood in the middle of the bathroom, leering at Eddie with knife in hand. He was just as ugly and miserable and mean as he had been when they were kids. Eddie just about ran into him, screaming again. Henry gave a high pitched chuckle, eyes wide and manic. 

“It’s your time, Eddie,” he spat. 

There was a sudden white hot pain in Eddie’s cheek and tongue, and it took him a moment to realize that he had been stabbed. The knife was still jutting from his face, sagging under its own weight. It tugged down agonizingly with every movement. 

“Wuh, why?” Eddie stammered, dumbfounded. “Why did you do that?”

“Because he said it’s your time!” 

Henry laughed again, a deranged, unpleasant sound. 

“Who-who said it’s my time?”

Henry’s chuckling stopped abruptly, and he fixed him with a murderous glare. 

“You know, Eddie,” he snarled in a low voice, advancing upon him. “You _ know _. Time to float.”

And then Henry was howling again, and Eddie found himself laughing with him, because of fucking course this is what this all led to. He had survived the clown but would die by this fucking lunatic that had terrorized him his entire childhood. He staggered back towards the bathtub, which was the last place he wanted to go. But Henry was blocking his path to the door, and he had no choice. Eddie peeked inside the tub, laughter frantically pealing from his lips when he saw it was empty, water still running. He clumsily stepped inside, closing the curtain. 

“Where did you go?” Henry sounded angry and confused. “Now give me back my fucking knife.”

Before the last word could leave his mouth, his knife plunged through the curtain and right into his chest. He paused and stared at it dumbly for a moment, as if unable to comprehend what had just happened—yanking the curtain down as he stumbled backwards. Eddie wasted no time, slipping and sliding on the wet floor as he hurried out. 

“You need to cut that fucking mullet, man, it’s been like thirty years,” Eddie spat as he left. 

He shut the door to the bathroom, holding putting all his body weight against it in case Henry tried to follow. He yelled for help, and could hear footsteps thundering up the stairs. Beverly let out a high-pitched scream as she and Ben entered the room, rushing to Eddie’s side. 

“Bowers is in my bathroom,” Eddie managed to get out, before his legs gave out beneath him. 

He fell to his knees as his friends rushed to his side. He was suddenly aware of how very naked he still was, and decided at that point he really didn’t care. Beverly helped Eddie to the bed as Ben ran into the bathroom. Before he could even ask, she was already going through Eddie’s clothes. She tossed him a pair of underwear almost immediately, before rummaging around for an outfit. He quickly shoved them on, relieved to feel at least a little less vulnerable. 

“Bowers got away,” Ben reported, shaking his head. “Out the window. I watched him pull a knife out of his fucking chest.” 

Eddie grimaced, then yelped in pain. Every expression sent a hot wave of agony up the side of his face. Blood dripped onto the comforter beneath him. 

“Is it bad?” he asked helplessly. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up before you put your shirt on,” Beverly offered, trying to keep calm. “Now I know you have to have a first aid kit here somewhere.” 

“Check the biggest suitcase, that’s the one with all my medications.” 

Beverly returned with some rubbing alcohol, medical tape and gauze pads, while Ben brought over a wet hand towel from the bathroom. His hands shook a little as he poured some alcohol on Eddie’s cheek. Another wave of pain, but this time Eddie barely felt it. He simply stared blankly as Ben gently wiped away all the drying blood, before taping a gauze pad over the wound. Eddie knew he would eventually need stitches, but that was the last thing on his mind as he quietly dressed himself. 

“Where’s Richie?” he croaked, fixing his friends with that same blank look. 

“We don’t know, he ran out the door before we could stop him,” Beverly replied, sharing a glance with Ben. 

“We need to warn him and the others about Bowers.” 

Eddie nodded, still in a daze over what had just happened. 

“Ben, why don’t you go to the library and warn Mike,” Beverly suggested. “Eddie and I will catch up with you.” 

“I think we should stick—”

“Ben, we’ll be right there, I promise.” Beverly’s voice was firm. “Go, we don’t have enough time.” 

Ben nodded, and was gone. Beverly took a seat next to Eddie, placing a gentle hand on his lap. 

“Eddie, do you want to talk about what happened?” 

“I’m fine, Bev,” Eddie insisted. 

“You don’t look fine.” 

“Can you blame me? I was just stabbed in the fucking face.” Beverly’s reproachful look filled him with guilt. “I’m sorry, Bev. It’s just…” 

Eddie didn’t know where to begin, or even how to. He couldn’t get that sight out of his head—Richie, eyes full of nails and mouth full of rotted teeth. 

_ (STICK NAILS IN THE EYES OF ALL FAGOTS (FOR GOD!)) _

Before Eddie could stop himself, tears were running down his face. The one moment he had let his guard down, the one moment he had let himself give in to all of those sinful thoughts, and this is how he was rewarded. For one shining moment he had actually allowed himself to believe that those feelings weren’t bad, that Richie might actually return them. And he had almost died for it. He wouldn’t make that same mistake twice. He couldn’t. He’d be stuck with Myra for the rest of his life. The tears were coming harder now, and Beverly wrapped her arms around him. 

Eddie had no idea how long he had sobbed into her shoulder, but his chest did feel a little lighter when he finally pulled away. 

“I know there are some things too hard to say,” Beverly said gently. “But sometimes you just have to say them, while there’s still time.” 

Eddie eyebrows shot up, and he began to stammer noncommittally, when she stood up. 

“We need to make sure the others are okay.” 

Eddie nodded, following close behind. As Beverly drove them to the library, her words echoed in his head. He thought about Myra again. And that fucking clown. And Richie. They drove over the Kissing Bridge, and Eddie caught a glimpse of that carving. 

R + E 

_ Stop being stupid, _ he told himself. _ That’s for someone else. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm almost halfway through reading IT and it has me real spooked y'all. 
> 
> This was another hard chapter to write but so far one of my faves. Enjoy this emotional one.

_ Richie Tozier sped along the empty freeway, the top of his rental car down. There was whiskey on his breath and only God knew where he was headed. Richie was leaving Derry, Maine as he had entered it: alone and afraid. And full of goddamn memories. He remembered a time when he didn’t remember. A time when he didn’t know Derry existed, when the name Eddie Kaspbrak meant nothing to him. He yearned for that blissful ignorance, back when he wasn’t haunted by the blank, staring eyes of his dead best friend. Richie craved the days when his chest didn’t ache in longing for a love he could never admit. And now Eddie was gone and it was too late. _

_ He couldn’t get it out of his mind. Every touch, every smile, every time he made Eddie laugh. He wanted to forget it all, the way he had the first time. But those memories clung to his consciousness, stuck on replay like some broken VCR from his childhood. Richie would never be able to forget how Eddie’s triumphant smile sagged into a pained grimace, right as It’s claw pierced his chest and lifted him into the air. He would never forget the sickly warmth of his best friend’s blood splattering across his torso, metallic flecks splashing on his tongue. He wanted to forget the look of pure fear in Eddie’s eyes as he choked out Richie’s name before being flung through the air. Even in those final moments, he had been unable to bring himself to admit the truth to Eddie. _

_ Richie didn’t want to think about how his best friend’s body would rot there in the darkness below the sewers. He didn’t want to remember that his best friend died alone. _

_ Richie’s foot was heavy on the gas pedal, speeding faster than ever before. The road was completely empty. Good. It was better that way. The wind tore through his hair, drying his tear-stained cheeks. Richie took a deep breath, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other shaking as it reached down. The small click of the seatbelt unbuckling was lost to the roar of the wind. Richie closed his eyes, jamming his foot down until the pedal met the floor of the car. The engine roared as he pushed it to its limit. Richie’s throat was dry as he tried to swallow, heart racing with adrenaline. _

_ Richie closed his eyes. He could picture Eddie perfectly behind his lids, smiling that nervous smile that he loved so much. He thought of his carving at the Kissing Bridge. _

_ R + E. _

_ Richie + Eddie. _

_ A sad smile touched Richie’s lips. _See you soon, Eddie. 

_ Richie’s hand wasn’t shaking anymore as he gripped the emergency break. Another deep breath. He yanked up hard, and the world spun around him. _

_ Richie was flying. _

_ Then darkness. _

“Hey Rich,” Eddie’s voice cut through the void. “Wake up, hey! Yeah, there he is!”

Richie blinked rapidly, unsure of what had just occurred. Eddie was smiling triumphantly as he gripped his shoulders. Richie stared in confusion; this all felt horribly familiar. What was that feeling? You know. The one you can only say in French. 

_ Déjà vu. _

“Hey buddy!” Eddie continued, shaking Richie in his excitement. “Richie, Rich—hey, I think I got it man!”

But Richie knew what was coming next. That bastard wasn’t dead, and Eddie was about to pay the ultimate price. Richie couldn’t let that happen, not again. 

“I think I killed it, I did it, I think I killed it for real—”

Richie grabbed Eddie and yanked him down. His arms pinwheeled wildly for a moment before he fell right on top of Richie. A great claw the size of his forearm swiped through the air where he had just been a split-second before. The force of the tug sent them tumbling down, Richie clutching Eddie fiercely as they fell. They rolled right into the mouth of a small cave, coming to a stop at the bottom of the steep incline covered in bruises and scrapes, but alive. Fucking _ alive. _

Richie’s relief was short lived, however, when Eddie let out horrible, choked noise, somewhere between a screech and a howl. Richie's eyes widened and his jaw dropped when realized just what had caused this sound to rip from his best friend’s lips: his left hand was gone. Hacked clean off just a few inches above where his wrist should be. Blood spurted from the wound, and Eddie’s terrified eyes met his own. 

“Richie,” he croaked, lip trembling. “Rich. Richie.” 

Richie knew they didn’t have a lot of time, and he didn't plan on wasting a single second. He worked impossibly fast, with the focus of a desperate man. He took off his jacket and wrapped it tightly against the bleeding stump. He quickly unbuckled and whipped off his belt, looping it around the jacket to keep it in place. Another ear-splitting scream left Eddie’s throat as Richie pulled the belt as tight as possible. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said, trying to blink away tears.

He stabbed the prong through the leather, buckling it in place. He prayed to any god listening that this makeshift bandage and tourniquet would be enough. 

“I need you to keep your arm up, can you do that?” 

Eddie nodded weakly. Richie knew they only had so much time. A chorus of voices called out their names, and they both looked up to see the rest of the Losers rushing down the incline, slipping and sliding over the uneven ground in their haste. Beverly was the first to meet them, soaked from head to toe in what looked horribly like blood. Ben, Bill, and Mike were close behind her, all gathering around the two with worry and fear etched into their faces. Beverly let out a strangled gasp as she eyed Richie’s handiwork.

And then Pennywise was at the mouth of the cave, claws tearing at the entrance that was too small for It’s monstrous body to fit through. They all jumped at the horrible grating noise, eyes wide with panic. 

“Come out and play, Losers!” It thundered, eyes glittering with hunger.

“He’s hurt really bad.” Richie hated the way his voice was shaking. “W-we gotta get him out of here.” 

“How are we supposed to do that, Richie?” Beverly asked helplessly.

“We’ll fucking carry him! We can’t just leave him here!”

“The leper,” Eddie said suddenly, eyes locking with Richie. “My hands were around his throat. He was choking. I made him small.”

Richie glanced to Mike, who was staring intently at Eddie, and he could see an idea forming in his mind. 

“He seemed so weak.” 

“The Shokopiwah!” Mike exclaimed almost manically, eyes wide and face shining with sweat. “All living things must abide by the laws of the shape they inhabit!”

“Guys!” Ben called. “There’s a passageway, through here!” 

Richie needed to hear no more. He scooped Eddie into his arms, staggering slightly but keeping his balance as he carried him through the tunnel that Ben had found. Eddie groaned, face alarmingly white as he lifted his left arm up against Richie’s shoulder, still following the direction he’d been given to keep it elevated. The others followed close behind him, and he could hear Beverly and Mike hatching some sort of plan. That all seemed so far away to Richie; he had one thought screeching over and over in his mind, all consuming: SAVE EDDIE KASPBRAK. 

Time moved differently for Richie after they entered the main cavern again. He set Eddie down in the entrance of the tunnel as gently as he could, trying not to think about how horribly pale he had become in the last few minutes. He hardly registered when Mike and Beverly’s plan started to go south, when Pennywise noticed them and scuttled over to surely devour them all whole, savoring every bit of their unbridled fear. 

Except Richie wasn’t afraid anymore. He was angry. He was fucking _ pissed. _ Not only had this fucking clown terrorized his childhood, it had practically molested him while wearing his best friend’s face. The pure _ audacity _ that motherfucker had, to try to defile the feelings he had for the only person he would probably ever love. And thanks to that goddamn clown, that person was most likely about to die, so Richie really had nothing left to lose. 

So it was time to kill this motherfucking clown. 

And somehow, against all odds, they did. They had done to It what It had almost done to them in the summer of 1989: bullied and terrorized It, made It feel small and weak, crushed It’s spirit. Richie felt no remorse for the pathetic, sniveling thing as he ripped off It’s last remaining claw. His chest rose and fell violently as he did so, and he felt so animalistic that for a moment he was ready to tear the rest of It into pieces with his bare hands. But in the end it was Mike who reached into It’s chest and pulled out the disgusting slimy heart. It beat frantically as they all advanced upon it, and Richie savored the fear in _ It’s _ yellow eyes.

The Losers crushed the heart together, and the orbs of light that were the Deadlights stopped their strobing, extinguished. It was gone. Defeated once and for all. 

There was a beat, then Richie was running back to where he left Eddie, calling his name. The rest followed behind him as he fell to his side. Eddie’s eyes were closed, and his face was somehow paler than before; the jacket around his arm was dark with blood. Richie’s eyes widened, hand shooting to his throat. He pressed two fingers right next to Eddie’s Adam’s apple, letting out a strangled cry of relief when he felt a faint pulse.

“We gotta get him out of here,” he repeated. “Help me.” 

“Richie,” Mike began, doubt in his eyes.

Suddenly the cavern began to rumble, large chunks of rock falling from the sky. They all ducked, instinctively covering their heads with their arms. 

“We can’t leave him here, he’s afraid of the dark!” Richie pleaded, hysterical. 

“You grab his shoulders and I’ll grab his legs,” Ben said suddenly, kneeling. He found Richie’s eyes and nodded. “We don’t have much time.” 

And then time was moving as if in a dream again. One moment they were in that terrible cavern under the sewers, the next they were stumbling through the Neibolt house as it crashed around him. He didn’t feel his muscles screaming in pure agony as he and Ben hauled Eddie’s limp body the entire trek, nearly dropping him more than a dozen times. He barely noticed as the rest of the his friends lent their help when they could, screaming at him to keep running when he almost stopped. He wasn’t aware of how narrowly they avoided being crushed as the Neibolt house leveled itself mere seconds after they tumbled out. 

And then they were somehow at the hospital. The emergency room staff had immediately taken Eddie in when they brought him through the doors, unconscious but miraculously still breathing. They attracted many looks as they gathered in the waiting room, covered in grime—and in Beverly’s case, blood—eyes bloodshot and faces gaunt. When questioned about what had happened to put Eddie in such a state, they all gave a non-committal mutter about a power tool accident. The nurse had given them a look that plainly said he didn’t believe that b.s., but he also didn’t care enough to find out the truth. 

So they waited. And waited. And waited. Richie thought he was going to lose his goddamn mind. After the first few hours he eventually stopped keeping track of time, instead holding his head between his hands and staring at the ground with a blank expression. It wasn’t until he saw the drops of moisture on the floor that he realized he was crying. Once it hit him, the silent tears progressed to a loud, racking sob. 

A warm arm wrapped around his shoulders; it was Beverly, pulling him close to her. And then Mike’s arm was hooking under his own, as he leaned his head against Richie’s shoulder. Bill gripped his hand tightly, and Ben wrapped his long arms around them all in a comforting group hug. Richie had no idea how long they were there, holding each other tightly as he continued to cry, heavy hot tears rolling down face with no signs of stopping. He was grateful for the warmth they brought him; it grounded him, kept him tethered to the Earth when it felt like he was just about to 

_ (float) _

fly off the rails. He wanted to stay cocooned in that warmth forever. 

Eventually, the tears did stop. And though they slowly broke apart, they stayed close, clinging to the physical contact between one another. That contact was like armor, protecting them from the past, keeping them together, for that’s how they had survived this entire horrifying adventure: by sticking together. If any of the Losers had been asked right then what they were most grateful for, each one would have said that this ordeal had—at the very least—brought them all back together, and that somehow made it all worth it. Almost. 

And right now they were all thinking the same thing: _ Dear God, please let Eddie live. _

Almost as if on cue, a doctor entered the waiting room and headed towards their group. Richie was on his feet in an instant, fixing the doctor with an intense stare. The others gathered around him, looking expectantly. 

“I’m guessing you’re the ones who brought in Mr. Kaspbrak?” he said flatly, eyeing their filthy, tattered clothes. They all nodded quickly. “Well, I have good news. It took a lot of blood transfusions, but your friend is alive.”

There was a collective w_ hoosh _ of air as the entire group let out the breath they had all been holding. Most broke into shaky smiles, but Richie’s brow stayed furrowed, carving a deep line down the center of his forehead. 

“He’s a little loopy right now from the meds, but he’s stable.” 

“Can we see him?” Richie asked anxiously, voice low and hoarse from all the crying. 

“Go right ahead, he’s in room 3C. He’s been asking—”

Richie was brushing past the doctor before he’d finished talking, almost breaking into a full sprint. The rest of the Losers filed behind, Ben muttering a thanks to the doctor. Richie frantically followed the signs, heart hammering as every step brought him closer to Eddie. He earned many disgruntled mutters from various hospital staff, but he didn’t really give a flying fuck. All that mattered was seeing Eddie again, to feel him and be sure this wasn’t all some dream, to prove that he was really _ alive. _

Richie almost ran right past the door, but managed to catch himself on the doorframe, practically vaulting himself into the room. His friends followed him in, lingering in the doorway. 

And there he was: Eddie Kaspbrak, eyes closed as he leaned heavily into a hospital bed, a faint smile playing on his lips. There was a fresh bandage on his cheek, as well as a proper one wrapped around his left arm. A dry sob choked in Richie’s throat at the sight, but there were no tears this time. His feet slowed as he approached the hospital bed, coming to a halt right in the center of the room. He watched as Eddie’s chest rose and fell, all the proof he needed to quiet his rioting mind. His own breath hitched a little as his eyes slowly fluttered open, locking onto Richie’s. That small smile turned into a wide, lazy grin. 

“Richie,” Eddie said slowly, sounding like his mouth was full of cotton. 

“Y-yeah?” Richie stammered, approaching the side of the bed. He wanted very badly to take Eddie’s hand in his own. 

“I got something to tell you.” Eddie’s voice was no louder than a whisper. 

“Go ahead, bud, I’m right here.” 

Richie leaned in closely, feeling like he was going to cry again right then and there. The rest of the Losers watched intently, not one saying a word. There was an unspoken agreement that this was Richie's moment. 

“I…I…”

Richie’s heart was a jackhammer in his chest, pounding so hard and loud in his ears that he was afraid he would miss whatever Eddie was about to say. 

“Richie,” Eddie began again, wetting his lips and swallowing hard. “I fucked your mom.” 

And then Richie did cry. These tears were different, though: tears of relief, tears of laughter, tears of pure fucking happiness. He laughed so hard his knees buckled, and clung to the side of the hospital bed to keep from falling to the floor completely. Beverly also giggled, and then Ben, Mike, and Bill joined in. They all laughed hysterically until all of their eyes streamed, sides hurting. Eddie was chuckling too, wincing slightly at the ache in his cheek. They didn’t stop until a rather severe-looking nurse stuck her head in the room, reminding them there were other patients in the hospital who needed their rest, and that each patient was allowed three visitors at a time, thank you very much. They sobered up for a moment, all locking eyes and sharing the same relieved expression. 

It was Ben who eventually broke the contented silence that had settled over them. 

“We did it, you guys,” he said in a hushed voice. “We killed It.” 

“We did?” Eddie seemed amazed. 

“Fuck _ yeah, _ we did.” 

Richie gripped Eddie’s right forearm in his excitement.

“I knew we could do it,” Mike chipped in. “We just needed to stick together.”

“And now, we all need showers,” Beverly added. _ “Especially _ me.” 

“Yeah, and food.” Ben’s stomach growled loudly then, as if to prove his point. 

“Th-that sounds wuh, wuh, wonderful.” 

“Uh, you guys go ahead, I’m gonna stick around for a while.” 

Richie glanced back to Eddie, realizing that he was still holding tight to his arm. If Eddie noticed or cared, he said nothing, that blissful grin still plastered on his face. _ Must’ve given him that _ good _ shit, _ he thought to himself.

As much as he was in desperate need of a bath, Richie couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Eddie alone. He hated hospitals, and as soon as the Morphine or Vicodin or whatever drugs they were pumping him full of wore off, Eddie was in for one hell of a reality check. Sure, they had beat Pennywise, but at what cost? Richie tried not to stare at the bandages that covered what was left of his left arm. 

“You sure Richie?” Ben asked, but Beverly put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a look. 

“We’ll make sure to bring you some food, Rich.” 

He nodded, not mentioning that he had absolutely no appetite. The rest of the Losers shuffled out of the room, leaving them alone. His hand was still on Eddie’s arm, not gripping quite so tight anymore. He began to remove it, when Eddie’s arm shot out and held his in place. 

“Richie.” 

His voice was lower, more serious than before. Richie gulped, and opened his mouth to speak but found no words. He was very aware of how tightly Eddie was holding on to him, so tight he could feel his pulse against his skin. He reveled in the feeling, more proof that he really was _ alive. _

“You saved me,” Eddie said, voice cracking. 

Richie’s eyes found his own, shocked to see they were glittering with tears. For a terrible moment he thought of how It’s eyes had shined hungrily when It wore Eddie’s face. 

_ (isn’t this what you want faggot isn’t this what you always wanted) _

He blinked that memory away. 

“You fucking saved me,” Eddie repeated when Richie didn’t respond. “I owe you my goddamn life.” 

“You don’t owe me shit,” Richie finally said. “You woulda done the same for me. What was I supposed to do, leave you there?” 

His eyes darted to the floor, and Eddie finally released his grasp. Richie wished he hadn’t. After a beat he took a seat in the uncomfortable chair next to the hospital bed. He could feel Eddie staring a hole into the side of his head, but he didn’t meet his eyes this time. They sat there in silence for a while, Richie avoiding Eddie’s eyes. It wasn’t long before a light snoring filled the air as Eddie gradually fell asleep. 

Richie’s body, which had been as tightly wound as a spring, finally relaxed, melting into the chair. Sleep threatened to overtake him as well, but terrifying visions painted themselves behind his eyelids every time he shut his eyes. He saw

_ Eddie’s face contort horribly as the claw pierced right through his chest, blood painting the map of a violent new continent across Richie’s shirt. Eddie was lifted at least ten feet into the air, his legs dangling like a marionette. Pennywise laughed horribly, the sound echoing off the cavern walls and ringing in Richie’s ears. _

_ “Richie,” Eddie choked, blood dribbling down the center of his bottom lip. “R-Richie.” _

Richie squeezed his eyes tight until he nothing but bright white spots, but that didn’t stop what was coming next. He could feel himself

_ speeding along an empty freeway, whiskey on his breath. He knew just the trick to stopping all these unwanted memories. His hand was gripping that emergency brake now, yanking up. He’d be with Eddie soon, and Stan, too. He was flying. _

_ And then he saw a small group of people gathered around a casket on top of a hill. Ben and Beverly were there, along with Mike and Bill. They all cried silently as the casket was lowered into a hole on the ground. A tombstone was erected at the end of the hole, reading: HERE LIES RICHIE TOZIER, A FAGGOT _

Richie jolted, chest rising and falling violently. Eddie was still fast asleep. He cradled his head in his hands, rubbing his temples.

Sure, they had defeated It for good. But that couldn’t erase the terrible visions those Deadlights had shown him. It wouldn't bring Stan back, or Eddie's left arm. 

Would the nightmare ever truly end? Richie wasn’t so sure.

But he was sure of one thing: He’d do it all again if it meant that Eddie Kaspbrak would live. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.s. I've been peppering a lot of book references in this fic, points to anyone who catches them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be emotional af, be warned. Can't wait to write more. Comments are much appreciated!!!

A full two days passed, and Richie Tozier had yet to leave Eddie Kaspbrak’s side. Each member of the Losers Club had taken their turn offering to stay with Eddie so he could shower and take a good nap. Each time he insisted that he was fine, and that he would have time to shower later—later never came. Richie fully understood how stubborn he was being. He was fully aware of how badly he needed a good shower, and a change of clothes, and a real meal, and some goddamn _ sleep _. But none of that really felt important; all coherent thought was currently beat out by his overwhelming urge to stay by Eddie’s side. Ironically enough, it ended up being Eddie himself who was finally able to convince him to leave. 

“You need to take a _ fucking _ shower,” he had insisted, nostrils flaring. “Do you have any idea how bad you fucking smell? It’s a health concern. I’m gonna get an infection just being in the same room as you!” 

And when Richie still seemed reluctant and uncharacteristically morose, Eddie added in a softer voice, “I’m gonna be fine. Please just take a fucking shower.” 

Richie finally conceded, riding with Beverly to the Town House. It was a short and quiet ride, but he noticed how she kept shooting concerned glances his way. Richie knew she was worried about him; they all were. He wanted very badly to crack a joke or do one of his Voices, filled with that ever-present need to hide behind and comfort those around him with his humor. But his mind felt like an old dishrag—limp and lifeless and wrung out. So he kept quiet, staring blankly at the road until they came to a stop. 

After muttering a thanks to Beverly, he made his way upstairs and to his room. He glanced at the bed, sheets still rumpled from the last time Richie was on there. The image of Eddie on top of him, mouth full of razor-sharp teeth flashed through his mind, and he shivered. Hurrying into the bathroom, he slammed the door shut. Anger mingled with that sudden fear that was causing his heart to race. They had defeated It, when would the fear end? 

He turned the shower on, running the water as hot as it would go. He quickly disrobed. He took a good look at himself in the mirror, noting the scrapes across his face and various bruises blossoming all over his body. At least he had made it out of there in one piece. 

_(if only eddie could say the same_ _if only you were fast enough he might have been able to keep his arm)_

Richie shook that thought away, knowing it could have been worse. So much worse.

He set his glasses on the vanity, trying not to remember the horrible visions the Deadlights had shown him. He tried not to think about the horrible fate that Eddie had avoided—that _ he _had avoided—as he stepped into the shower. As he washed off the grime from the sewers, he tried to take comfort in the fact that he, Richie Tozier, had saved them both. But he was unable to stop his mind from replaying those horrifying moments over and over again. The future that could have been. 

And then a thought somehow more terrifying than the others occurred to Richie: _ I think I might be going insane. _

Defeating Pennywise was one thing. Defeating your own mind? Now that was a whole other ballgame, and Richie wasn’t sure if he wanted to play. 

The shower was short, just long enough for Richie to say he had done it (although a part of him did have to admit, he felt at least a little better now that he was clean). He quickly dried off, putting his glasses back on. Reaching to open the door to the bedroom, his hand froze and hovered over the glass doorknob. An irrational fear was boiling in his gut, telling him that Pennywise wasn’t really gone, that It was behind that door, wearing Eddie’s face again. Only this time there would be a bloody, gaping hole in his chest, and Pennywise would sneer accusingly in Eddie’s voice that it was all Richie’s fault. 

_ (i know your secret your dirty little secret) _

He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. 

He opened the door to an empty room. Richie released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He quickly pulled on the first outfit he could put together, almost tripping over himself as he hurried out of the room. He was in such a rush to be out of there he almost barreled right into Beverly, who was waiting in the hallway with two paper coffee cups in hand. 

“Oh fuck, Bev!” he exclaimed, stumbling backwards to avoid running into her. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!” She held out a cup towards him. “I thought you could use some coffee.”

He took it gratefully, taking a good drink. 

“Holy shit, did you put whiskey in here?” 

Beverly nodded, giving him a fiery grin that he remembered from their childhood. Richie took another deep drink, thankful for the warmth it brought him. 

“You know you’re the best, right Bev?” 

“Yeah, but it’s nice to hear it every once in a while,” she laughed. “Do you want to go for a walk with me?” 

“You know what? A walk sounds fucking great. You got a cigarette?” 

“Not for you, Trashmouth.” 

Still, she handed him one with a grin, and he stuck it behind his ear as they left the Town House together. Beverly produced a lighter from her pocket, lighting each of their cigarettes in turn. Richie took a deep drag as they walked down the sidewalk. He hadn’t smoked a cancer stick in years; he had made the switch over to sweet Mary Jane after moving to California. Still, it was better than nothing, and he took comfort in the sweet, familiar taste of tobacco burning down his throat. 

Beverly studied him as they meandered down the path, as if waiting for him to break the silence that had settled between them. Richie sipped his coffee between drags of his cigarette, not sure if he wanted to be the one who spoke first. 

“I know what’s on your mind,” Beverly said finally, speaking slowly and deliberately. 

Richie looked at her nervously, feet slowing to a stop. 

“Y-yeah?”

“What did they show you, Richie?” She sounded solemn, but not afraid. When he didn’t answer, she continued, “The Deadlights. What did you see?” 

“Eddie.” Richie’s voice was suddenly hoarse, and he could feel a fresh onslaught of tears building fast. “I saw Eddie. Pennywise fucking got him, right through—”

“—the chest,” Beverly finished, brows contracted, and Richie saw tears in her eyes as well. “I saw it, too. And you—”

“—I couldn’t stand it, Bev. I couldn’t stand the thought of him being gone. I-I….”

And then Richie was crying again, the tears spilling over his bottom eyelashes uncontrollably. The cigarette fell from his hand. Beverly’s joined his on the ground, and she quickly stepped on them to put them out. Her warm hand found Richie’s arm, squeezing gently. Their eyes locked for a moment and hers were full of so much understanding and compassion, the words were leaving Richie’s mouth before he had a chance to think about it: 

“Bev, I’m gay.” 

The tears were lighter now, but still coming down all the same. And just as the tears were subsiding, words began to spill out of Richie, and he was confessing everything to Beverly: the feelings he’d had for Eddie since they were kids; the kiss that may or may not have happened; how Pennywise had taken Eddie’s face and nearly tricked him into doing the unthinkable, how It had taunted and tormented him over his love for his best friend. She listened to every word, nodding and accepting it all sympathetically. 

After throwing their now empty coffee cups into the trash, Beverly drew Richie into a tight hug. Richie cursed himself for crying again. It was a while before they drew apart. Richie wasn’t ready for the sudden wave of relief that washed over him, deep and overwhelming. His chest suddenly felt lighter as the weight of that secret that he had kept for so long was finally lifted.

“So, are you going to tell him?” she asked carefully. 

“I don’t know, Bev,” Richie answered uncertainly. “The guy lost his fucking arm, for crissake. I don’t want to overwhelm him, you know? Besides…what if it blows up on me?”

He hated the way his voice cracked on that last question, but that’s what it all really boiled down to: the fear of rejection. He didn’t think he could handle all that. 

“What if it doesn’t?” 

Richie suddenly had the idea that there was something Beverly wasn’t telling him. 

“What do you know that I don’t?” he asked in a low voice. 

“Nothing,” she said innocently. “You know as well as I do that life is short, and we only have so many chances. We’re some of the lucky few who’ve actually been given a second one. It’d be a pity to waste it.” 

And with that Beverly was walking again, towards her car. Richie grumbled to himself, but followed her nonetheless, pondering her words.

# # #

They stopped at a McDonald’s on the way to the hospital at Beverly’s insistence. Every second the wasted in the drive-thru was like torture for Richie. He desperately wanted to get back to Eddie, to make sure no complications had popped up while he had been away. His stomach was grumbling angrily, though, at the lack of food and he scarfed down his burger and fries before they were even out of the parking lot. Still, his stomach groaned, unsatisfied. In all her wisdom, Beverly had ordered an extra meal, which Richie took gratefully. 

By the time they reached the hospital, his nerves had returned. He wondered if his heart would ever have a normal pace again as they made their way to Eddie’s room. Ben, Bill, and Mike were in the waiting room, faces stricken. Ben stood up when he saw them, face lighting up for a moment as he hugged Beverly. They had been practically inseparable since the sewers. Richie was barely able to register his jealousy, distracted by the look on the others’ faces. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, panicked. “Is Eddie ok?” 

“Eddie’s fine,” Mike assured him. “But, uh…”

“His wuh, wuh, w-wife is here,” Bill interjected, wrinkling his nose. 

“And she’s a real piece of work,” Ben muttered. 

Beverly’s eyes flashed to Richie, who was staring blankly at Mike. His feet moved of their own accord, in the direction of Eddie’s room. 

“Richie,” Beverly’s voice was soft. “Richie, maybe you should give them a moment.” 

But he couldn’t stop himself. Ben and Beverly followed him as he made his way to room 3C. With every step he took he could hear a woman’s shrill voice grow louder and louder. 

“…_ what were you DOOOOOING? How could you have let this HAPPEN? And where is your wedding ring? You LOST IT?! I TOLD you not to leave me, and now you’re—now you’re—” _

She burst into loud, hiccupping sobs right as Richie, Ben and Beverly entered the room. The woman was standing right next to the hospital bed, practically shaking it as she wailed. Eddie was saying something, but his words were lost under the deafening noise of her cries. His eyes locked with Richie’s, pleading and tired. Richie cleared his throat. Myra Kaspbrak jolted as if she had been slapped, head jerking toward them. Richie was both shocked and appalled at just how much she looked like Eddie's mother: the same round cheeks, the same beady eyes, the same upturned nose. The resemblance was fucking uncanny. 

“Everything, uh, alright in here?” Richie asked dumbly, not quite knowing what else to say. 

_ “No!” _ she almost yelled, glaring daggers at the three. “My _ husband—” _ Richie flinched at the word. “— _ lost _ his _ arm! _ How could _ anything _be alright?”

“S-sorry, I was just check—”

“And who in the hell might _ you _ be, anyway?” 

“He’s just an old friend,” Eddie began. 

“Oh, _ another _ one of your friends,” she spat, close to hysterical. “Is this the one that cut your arm off with a power saw?” 

“Actually, he saved my life.” 

Richie felt a warmth in his chest. He didn’t have much time to enjoy it, however, as Myra had chosen that moment to start crying again. The sound grated against Richie’s eardrums. _ How in the hell has Eddie put up with this woman for so fucking long. _

“No, the doctor who gave you those blood transfusions saved your life,” she shrieked. She turned back to Eddie, who cowered into his hospital bed. “_ These _ are the people who let you put your life in danger in the first place! What in the heavens were you _ doing _ with a power saw, anyway?” 

When no one answered, she continued in a huff, ‘We’re going to have you transferred back home to New York as soon as possible. That way we can start physical therapy and have you fitted for a prosthetic. I’ll make sure you get all of your prescriptions, and I’ll have to drive you to all of your appointments, of course. I’ll have to take a leave of absence from work just so I can take care of you.” 

Richie saw Eddie’s lips move, but he was drowned out by Myra’s droning on and on. Anger sparked deep in his chest, and he opened his mouth without thinking. 

“Would you shut your big mouth so Eddie can talk?” 

Myra’s pink mouth sagged open in surprise, before she rounded on Richie with an icy stare. 

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but I will _ not _stand for being spoken to like that! Eddie, would you tell your idiot—”

“I’m not going to New York,” Eddie interrupted quietly, so softly it was almost inaudible. 

“Wuh, what?” Myra stammered in surprised, turning back to Eddie. “You need some rest, you clearly don’t know what you’re saying.” 

“I’m _ not _ going to New York,” he spat back, slowly and deliberately. “I’m staying right here. And that guy you’re calling an idiot saved my fucking life.” 

“Eddie-bear, why would you—”

“You heard him, lady, he doesn’t want to go back to New York with you. And I don’t blame him,” Richie added with a sneer. “I haven’t known you more than five minutes and even I can see you’re a fuckin’ nightmare. Now stop bothering him, he needs his rest.” 

That was Myra’s breaking point. 

_ “You don’t tell me what he needs!” _she bellowed, her face red and splotchy as she charged towards Richie. 

And then she was upon him, winding him as she knocked him to the ground. Her meaty fists beat against Richie’s chest pathetically, with no real power. She yelled incomprehensibly in his face, and he tried very hard to shove her off of him. She had every ounce of her massive weight against him, however, and his attempts were futile. Beverly was trying to pull her off, while Ben called out in the hallway for help. Richie could hear Eddie screaming at Myra to get the fuck off of him, but she was working on pure rage, he could see it in her eyes. 

Just when he thought he might actually suffocate under her weight, two orderlies ran in and hooked their arms under her own. Together they were able to yank her off, and Richie scooted back on his butt until his back hit a wall. She was hysterical, still reaching out for him. It took a moment for her to calm down, collapsing on the floor while her chest heaved and more tears spilled down her round cheeks. Eddie looked helpless from his hospital bed, eyes flickering back and forth between his wife and Richie. 

Ben helped Richie to his feet just as two police officers walked into the room. Jesus fucking Christ. 

“What seems to be the issue here?” one asked, looking expectantly from Myra to Richie. 

Before anyone else could answer, Eddie gestured to his wife. “It was her, officer. She attacked my good friend here, who wasn’t bothering anybody.” 

“But—” Myra began to protest. 

“Is that what happened?” the second cop asked, looking around the room. They all nodded quickly. It was their word against hers. 

“Do you want to press charges?” he then asked Richie, whose eyes opened wide. He looked to Eddie, who shrugged noncommittally. 

“Uh, n-no,” Richie said quietly. “I’m all good.” 

“Can you please just get her out of here, officer? She’s disturbing the peace,” Eddie insisted. 

Myra let out another sob as she struggled to get to her feet. 

“Oh, and honey?” 

She looked to him hopefully with a tearstained face. 

“I want a divorce.” 

Myra spluttered and for a moment it looked like she was going to lunge at Eddie. Her eyes darted nervously to the police, though, and she seemed to think better of it. She drew her head high, and walked to the door, a cop on either side. The orderlies trailed behind them. 

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer!” she snarled as he left the room in a huff. 

“Yeah, yeah, eat shit!” Eddie yelled back, a huge grin stretching across his face for a moment. He looked to his friends, who were staring in a stunned silence. “You guys don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do that. I don’t know what came over me.” 

His eyes caught Richie’s. 

“You alright, Richie? I’m sorry about…all of that. I would have stopped her if I could.”

“I’m good,” Richie assured him. “To be fair, I wasn’t too nice to Jabba the Hut there. I just couldn’t stand to hear her talking over you like that.”

There was a pregnant pause. 

“She deserved it,” Eddie finally said. “I don’t know how I put up with all that all these years. After everything we’ve been through these last couple of days, I don’t think I could have _ kept _ putting up with that shit.” 

“Good for you, Eddie,” Beverly commented. “And you know what? You’re not alone. I’m divorcing Tom.” 

She slipped her hand into Ben’s, both of them wearing matching smiles. Richie’s face split into a wide grin. 

“Finally got the girl, huh, Haystack?” he clapped him on the back. “I’m real happy for you guys.”

“It’s about damn time!” 

“Thanks, Rich, Eddie,” Ben said, eyes sparkling with pure, unadulterated happiness. “Speaking of which, we gotta go call some of my lawyers. We’ll catch up with you guys later.” 

“Good luck, Richie,” Beverly whispered as she hugged him goodbye. “You got this.”

He gave a small nod, swallowing hard as they left him alone with Eddie. He turned to him, taking his seat next to his bed. 

“So…any idea what you’re gonna do now?” 

“What do you mean?” Eddie asked, brows furrowed. 

“You know, with the divorce and all. What’s the next step?” 

“Oh, I hadn’t really thought of that.” He frowned. “I’m sure as hell not going back to New York, I’ll tell you that much. I’ll pay for someone to send me my things if I have to. Not that there’d be much to send.” 

Richie wet his lips, taking a breath before continuing. 

“Why don’t you come stay with me for a while in Malibu?”

“Of fucking course you live in Malibu.” Eddie laughed, not unkindly. “Eh, why the fuck not? I could use some sun after all this bullshit.” He paused, looking down at his left arm, where his hand used to be. “You sure you’ll be alright with all…this?” He lifted his left shoulder weakly. 

“Looks to me like you’re the one who’s all right. Get it? All _ right,” _Richie cracked, hoping it wasn’t too soon to joke. 

“Aw, can it asshole,” Eddie retorted, but there was laughter in his eyes. 

“In all seriousness, I’d love to be the one who ties your shoes and combs your hair, Eddie Spaghetti. We can party, Cali-style, and maybe forget this whole mess.” 

“No.” Eddie suddenly sounded serious. “I don’t want to forget, not again.” 

That caught Richie off guard, and he sensed something deeper lying under those words. He thought of Beverly and what she had told him about second chances. The words were right there in his mouth, ready to spill out and confess everything he’d been holding back. But as he gazed at Eddie, observed the bags under his eyes and how carefully he moved to favor his left arm, he decided now wasn’t the right time. Not after he just announced his plans to divorce his overbearing wife. Eddie needed time, and so did he. In that moment, however, Richie decided he couldn’t wait much longer. He thought of how much lighter he had felt after telling Beverly. He realized just how tired he was of holding it in, how tired he was of hiding. 

Richie had been given a second chance. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to waste it. 

“You know what? Me either, Eds. Me either.” 


	6. Chapter 6

Eddie Kaspbrak always had a complicated sort of relationship with hospitals. He could now remember all the time he spent there as a child, how his mother would drag him there at least twice a month over every little scrape or cough. He recalled with faint amusement a time when an orderly had told his mother that they oughta be paying rent what with how often they visited. That had really pissed her off. How he had hated the hospital then, especially the emergency room. The bright lights, the dingy white walls, the horrible chemical smell. It was enough to make his skin crawl. Despite all of that, though, he was able to find some quiet kind of comfort in hospitals; however harrowing the experience was, he always walked out feeling reassured, safe, even kind of  _ healthy _ for once. And it was always after leaving that his mother’s insufferable fussing would relent, even if only a little. 

Eddie had always harbored a sense of resentment towards his mother. How she had suffocated him with her love, how she was always worrying about him in one way or another. He wondered what she would say if she could see him now. She would surely be hysterical, as Myra had been, screaming at the top of her lungs about how 

_ My son is very delicate! How could you have taken him down beneath those sewers, how could you have made him fight that horrible THING! My poor boy will never have the chance to live a normal life or be a normal person! How could you have done this to my poor delicate son!  _

Eddie shifted uncomfortably in the hospital bed, trying and failing to find a good position. His left palm itched horribly, and he reached over to scratch it, swiping at the air. He stared blankly at the place where his hand should have been, and the itching feeling turned into a dull ache. He sighed and turned his head away, focusing instead on a water stain on the wall. 

Eddie knew that he should have been more upset. He was allowed to, he had just lost his fucking arm. But he felt…almost nothing. He supposed that all those years with his mother had been preparing him for this very moment. She was always acting like at any moment some horrendous accident would befall him, and it turns out she had been right all along. Eddie’s eye flitted to the bandages around the end of his left arm, starting where his forearm now ended and wrapping up right past his elbow. One of the nurses had tried teaching him how to wrap it himself, and was surprised when he already knew to wrap diagonally—to avoid constricting circulation. Just another nugget of medical knowledge gifted by Sonia Kaspbrak. 

Eddie had felt a sense of pride then, reveling in the opportunity to take care of himself, if only just for once. Before returning to Derry he had let Myra dictate his life, just as his mother had before. Eddie had finally gotten a sense of control, even if it was only just a taste. He was almost drunk on the feeling, and then Myra came barging in, threatening to take it all away in an instant. And he had shrunk down again, had almost given in and given her that control. It would have been so easy, so safe, to fall into her massive arms and sink down, down, down into that comforting darkness. 

And then Richie had come back into the picture. He had seen Eddie there, helpless and dangerously close to falling back into that pit, and he had reached in and pulled him back. That’s all it took to give Eddie the strength to do the unthinkable: he was going to get a fucking divorce. He was going to finally get away from Myra, from his mom, from all those years of living a lie. 

Richie snored loudly, pulling Eddie from his thoughts. His head lolled back in the chair next to Eddie’s bed, mouth hanging open to allow a steady stream of drool down his chin. A small smile lifted the corners of Eddie’s mouth as he thought of how much he would tease Richie about it when he woke up. As he stared at his best friend, he thought of how Richie had defended him. Not only from Myra, but Pennywise—and back when they were kids, from Henry Bowers. The more he thought about it the more he realized that Richie had always been there, looking after him in a way his mother never could. Even down there, in the caverns under the sewers, Richie had barely left his side, putting Eddie’s safety before his own. It had been Richie who had saved him, Richie who had made sure that he made it out of there alive. And even though over a week had passed, and all of their other friends had already left Derry, it was still him staying with Eddie night after night, making sure that he didn’t have to go through all of this alone. 

Eddie shuddered as his mind touched on the cavern again, filling his mind with renewed terror as he remembered 

_ Three doors. Each door had a message scrawled in what could only be blood: NOT SCARY AT ALL, SCARY, and VERY SCARY. A terrible tentacle thing blocked their only other exit, snapping and snarling at them. Eddie and Richie knew very well that Pennywise was just toying with them, that the tentacle could reach them at any moment and rip them apart. Eddie reached for the door marked NOT SCARY AT ALL, but Richie held him back.  _

_ “No no no no no! They-they’re flipped! He’s fucking with us, trust me!”  _

_ Richie opened the VERY SCARY door, revealing what had appeared to be an empty closet. Eddie went from confusion to understanding in a split second; of fucking course this bastard clown would show him a closet, because that’s what Eddie was truly terrified the most, of being forced out of the closet, of admitting to his best friend that he was really in lo— _

Another loud snore jerked Eddie into the present. Gooseflesh had erupted on his arms, and his entire left arm was aching now. He glanced at Richie, still in the same position, and felt his heart swell. That nightmare was in the past, and Pennywise was gone. He was here, with Richie, and he was alive. Oh, Eddie was very aware of just how close he had come to death, and he was beginning to look at the world through a different lens. His epiphany had been an obvious one: life is short, there’s no time to waste. And he had wasted so much time. So Eddie finally gotten rid of Myra, the last chain that was holding him back. Now, he was  _ free.  _ Free to be himself, free to live his life. 

He thought about Richie’s offer to have him stay at his place in Malibu. The smile returned to his face. He couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of Derry, and he couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather leave with. The doctors had told Eddie that he just needed to stay about another week or so at the longest, to continue with his physical therapy, before he could be released. Eddie was counting the days. 

As he laid there, waiting for the sweet embrace of sleep to finally take him, Eddie made his decision. He was tired of holding in all of these feelings, tired of lying to himself and to Richie, most of all. After this hospital mess was over, he would do what he never thought he could: he was going to tell Richie Tozier he was in love with him. Yes,  _ love.  _ By now he was certain of it. Eddie was going to take that plunge, the way he had so many years ago when he kissed Richie as teenagers. This time would be different, though; this time Eddie would actually own up to it, consequences be damned.  _ I already lost my arm, _ was Eddie’s last thought as he finally drifted to sleep,  _ what else is there to lose?  _

# #  #

Richie paced back and forth in the waiting room, running his hands through his hair. Today was the day. Three long weeks had passed, and Eddie was finally being released from the Derry Home Hospital. Richie had practically lived in the hospital during that time, only leaving to shower or get food (usually at Eddie’s insistence). The others had left a few weeks before, returning to their lives. Richie knew that he should have done the same, and the calls he got every day from his manager were a constant reminder. But the thought of leaving Eddie alone in Derry was even more ludicrous, and he couldn’t bring himself to leave even if he wanted to. And if Eddie found it strange or overbearing in any way, he sure was good at hiding it. 

And today was the fucking day. The day he and Eddie would leave this shitty little town behind for good. It was also the day, Richie had decided, that he was going to confess his undying love for this annoying, perfect little asshole that he had all but put his life on hold for. 

So of course Richie was nervous as he practically wore a hole through the floor of the lobby. Making the decision to admit his feelings to Eddie had been hard enough. He hadn’t considered how much harder it would be to actually follow through. A part of him would have rather faced Pennywise again. He almost laughed out loud at the thought. Yes, bullying that damn clown to death suddenly seemed so much easier than what he was planning to do. A laugh did escape from him this time, bubbling out almost manically. One of the nurses on duty shot him a weary look; she had been putting up with his and Eddie’s bullshit for the last three weeks now, and was clearly just as ready for them to leave as they were. He couldn’t help but crack a grin. 

“Do we really have to fucking do this?” Eddie’s voice rang out. 

“We’ve already been over this, Mr. Kaspbrak, it’s protocol,” answered Todd, one of the tired-looking nurses who had been tending to him for the past few weeks. “All amputee patients must be wheeled out upon discharge.” 

“I lost my arm, not my fucking legs, I can walk just fine.” 

Eddie was in a wheelchair, brows drawn together as he frowned fiercely, arms crossed. He was finally out of the hospital gown that he had complained about so much, wearing the outfit that he sent Richie to buy him just for this day: a Polo collared shirt (he hadn’t specified what color, so Richie had chosen a nice salmon because that was the color he liked him best in), black corduroys, and some loafers. Ok, so maybe Eddie wasn’t the most fashionable guy. That didn’t stop the next thought from crossing his mind:  _ Cute, cute,  _ cute! Richie had the sudden urge to pinch his cheeks the way he used to when they were kids. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his new jacket, instead. 

“You all ready to go, Eddie Spaghetti?” 

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie retorted good-naturedly. “Did you get all of my stuff from the Town House?”

“Nope, I burned it all for some ritual that’s supposed to make my dick grow bigger. I call it the Ritual of Chub.”

“Ha, ha, real funny, asshole,” Eddie sneered. “Did you get my shit or not?”

“Yeah, man, I could barely fit it all in the trunk of my rental. Why is your toiletry bag bigger than all of my luggage combined?” 

Richie snickered as Eddie rolled his eyes. He followed as the nurse wheeled him to the exit, Eddie complaining the entire time. He practically jumped out of the wheelchair at the first chance he got. Richie half-expected him to fall right over, as he had the first time he had tried getting out of the hospital bed alone. Eddie had worked hard at his physical therapy since then, though, and he now walked quickly and confidently. Richie was actually impressed by how much progress Eddie had made in so little time; he had approached the physical therapy with more tenacity than he himself could have ever managed, proving his independence more and more each day. Still, Richie walked close behind him, ready to catch him just in case his balance did happen to get thrown off. He observed the Ace bandage that Eddie himself had carefully wound up his arm; it would be a few more weeks before he could even get fitted for his prosthesis. 

The rental car waited for them near the hospital entrance. Richie had taken the time to drive up to Bangor and switch out the Mustang for something a little more sensible: a silver Toyota Camry. He hurried ahead of Eddie and opened the passenger door for him. 

“I can get it myself,” Eddie grumbled, but Richie saw a small smile touch his lips. 

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” 

“Shut it, Trashmouth.” 

Richie laughed to himself as he shut the door and ran around the car, sliding into the driver’s seat. He turned the keys in the ignition, feeling his pulse quicken as the engine roared to life. 

“I gotta make a quick stop before we head out,” Richie said quickly. “Hope you don’t mind.” 

“Whatever, just make it quick. I’m tired of being in this fucking town.” 

“You and me both, Eddie Spaghetti.” 

_ “Stop _ calling me that.” 

“Whatever you say, Eds.” 

The drive to the Kissing Bridge was a short one, but Richie’s nerves were getting the better of him. He took a detour through town, not really seeing the buildings of the town as he drove in circles. He avoided the town square, not sure if he was quite able to handle seeing that damn Paul Bunyan statue. Eddie, ever impatient, was soon bitching about the drive through Derry. 

“Where the hell are you taking me, Richie?” he demanded. “We’ve passed that bank about five times now.” 

“Sorry, I guess I got a little turned around,” Richie lied, avoiding his eyes. 

“Bull-fucking-shit. Can we just get the hell out of Derry already?” 

Richie didn’t reply, but took a deep breath instead. His knuckles were white as they gripped the steering wheel, finally taking them in the right direction. It didn’t take long to reach the Kissing Bridge. Richie pulled over on the side of the road, killing the engine. He stared straight ahead, avoiding Eddie’s expectant eyes. 

“Is this where you were taking me? It’s right down the street from the hospital, why the hell would you take me that crazy way? What’s going on here, Richie?”

“I got something I need to show you,” Richie answered, finally meeting Eddie’s eyes with a hard, determined look. 

And with that he was out of the car, heart hammering in his ears as his long legs took him further down the length of the bridge. Eddie scrambled out of the car, hurrying after him. 

“Hey! Wait for me, dickwad!” he called.

Richie was staring at a particular faded carving, and he didn’t need to follow his eyes to know what he was looking at. Eddie had memorized every messy curve and line of those letters long ago. 

R + E

Richie looked back at Eddie, tears swimming in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. So Eddie took the opportunity, instead. 

“Oh no, asshole. This was supposed to be my moment. I’m not letting you get to this first.” 

“Wuh-what are you—”

“Goddammit, Richie. I love you. Like,  _ love  _ you. Always have. There, I fucking said it. You happy?” 

Eddie wished he could have gotten the look that Richie gave him on camera. His eyes grew wide, his mouth a perfect O of shock, glasses nearly sliding off of his nose. Eddie walked right up to him and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose; a shiver went through Richie at the touch. 

“What, no! I had this whole speech planned!” he whined after a moment, gesturing wildly with his hands. “I was going to tell you about how I carved this when we were kids, and about how I’ve loved you since then, and I was going to have my big dramatic coming out moment! You ruined the whole thing, how  _ dare _ —”

“Aw, shut up for once, Trashmouth.” 

Eddie placed his hand on the side of Richie’s face, closing the distance between them. He reached up, placing his lips against his in a gentle kiss. Richie froze for a moment, and in that moment knew that the memory of that secret kiss was in fact real. And then he was wrapping his arms around Eddie’s small frame, pulling him in as close as he could. His heart pounded in his throat, swelling with joy as they embraced. Every single fear or insecurity that plagued Richie and Eddie about the feelings they’d been holding back for so long melted away, and they were both completely enveloped in pure bliss. 

It was a long while before they broke apart. Chest heaving, they stayed wrapped in each other’s arms for a moment, before hurriedly breaking apart. They were both suddenly aware of how lucky they were that no one had driven by as they had kissed; even with Pennywise gone, Derry was still a very dangerous place for  _ certain _ individuals of  _ certain _ lifestyles. Eddie started walking towards the car, when Richie reached out and grabbed his shoulder, stilling him. 

“Wait a minute.” 

He produced a small switchblade from his pocket, and kneeled on one knee by the fence. Eddie walked over next to him as Richie flipped the knife open.  _ Bigots be damned, _ Eddie thought to himself, grasping his hand with a determined grin. And together the carved over those letters, deepening them for the world to see. They stepped back to admire their handiwork, still holding one another’s hand. 

R + E 

Then they were back in the car again, all buckled up and ready to go. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Richie said as he started the engine.

“You can say that again.” 

They drove in a comfortable silence for a minute, enjoying each other’s presence. It was Eddie who finally spoke up as they were leaving Derry. 

“I always thought it was you who put that on the fence.” 

Richie’s eyebrows rose. 

“I guess I wasn’t as slick as I thought.” There was a pause, and then he continued quietly, “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” 

Another pause. 

“I guess I was afraid,” Eddie said truthfully. “I didn’t want to ruin what we had.” 

“Well that makes two of us. And that fucking town sure as hell didn’t exactly make things easier.” 

Eddie nodded in agreement. The next question came slowly, carefully. 

“What does this all mean…for us?” 

Richie didn’t immediately answer. He considered the question for a moment, before simply answering: 

“I don’t know. I’ve never really done this before.” 

“Does this mean we’re, uh,  _ boyfriends _ now?” The word felt alien in Eddie’s mouth, like chewing on tinfoil. 

“That depends, Eddie Spaghetti, is this you asking me to be your boyfriend?” Richie waggled his eyebrows up and down, shooting Eddie a smirk that made him blush. Before Eddie could respond, he went on. “How’s about this, Eds, we don’t need to put any labels on this. I don’t care about any of that. All I care about is that you’re alive, and you’re happy. And if being with me makes you happy, that’s all that really matters, right?” 

Much to his alarm, all Eddie could manage in response was a sob. He held his face in his hand as tears ran down in thick rivulets. 

“Oh, Eddie, fuck.” 

Richie pulled to a stop on the side of the highway, pushing the button to flash the hazard lights. He turned to Eddie, who was still crying profusely. 

“Oh, Eds, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Richie pleaded. “I’m so sorr—”

“D-don’t apologize,” Eddie managed to choke out. “I just—no one—”

He took a deep, ragged breath to steel himself. 

“No one’s ever talked about me like that. It all just fucking hit me.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but if you’re going to burst into tears every time I talk about you this might not be the best idea. Can’t have you crying all over the place every second of every day.” 

Eddie broke into a watery smile. 

“Just let me feel my feelings, asshole.” 

“Eddie?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I’d really like to kiss you, now.” 

“Then stop fucking talking about it and just do it, Trashmouth.”

So Richie did, tears and all. He kissed Eddie, long and hard as if his very life depended on it.

# # #

R + E 

Richie had carved that into the Kissing Bridge years and years ago, daring to hope that one day it would prove to be prophetic somehow. And so it had. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh this chapter felt so good to finally write. Hope y'all enjoyed it. Will prob finally get some real smut for the next chapter so stay tuned lmao


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some smut peppered with angst. Enjoy.

Richie Tozier left Derry, Maine in the exact opposite of how he arrived: happy and in the company of his first (and only) love, Eddie Kaspbrak. He drove with the quickness and desperation of a fugitive on the run, and every mile he put between them and that cursed town made his heart feel lighter and lighter. It was hard to keep himself from glancing at Eddie every few minutes, to make sure he was really there, alive, not just some hallucination that he'd dreamed up. But he was there, breathing and bitching about how bad of a driver Richie was. 

"Keep your eyes on the fucking road, are you trying to get us killed?" 

“I can’t help it Edward, my dear. Maybe you should try being a little less cute so I can pay better attention.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes but Richie saw the color rise in his face, that small, nervous smile that touched his lips. His own mouth stretched into a grin, and without thinking he dropped his hand onto Eddie’s thigh, where it rested heavily. Eddie’s heart thumped wildly in his chest at the contact. If his cheeks were warm before, it was nothing compared to how they flamed now. He stared at Richie’s hand for a moment; he admired how long and sturdy his fingers were, so different from Myra’s, which had been like plump little sausages. He tried to reach down and entwine his fingers with Richie’s, forgetting for a moment that his left hand was still gone. _ And it’s gonna stay gone, _ he told himself sternly _ . So get used to it. _

So Eddie crossed his right arm over instead, placing his hand over the one that was resting heavily on his thigh. Richie shot him a quick glance, and the smile he hit him with almost knocked Eddie flat. He was overcome with a sudden sense of exhilaration at that simple gesture of affection; it was an affirmation that this was all _ real _. Eddie couldn’t remember the last time he felt this free, the last time he felt such pure joy; it then occurred to him that aside from his early childhood—before he had learned self-hatred and shame—he had never truly felt either of these things until this very moment. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he blinked them away, too tired from already crying so much that day. 

“You alright there, Eddie-o Spaghetti-o?” Richie’s voice pulled him from his introspection. 

“How many stupid nicknames are you going to give me?” 

“As many as I can muster, Little Eddie.” 

He groaned in response, and Richie only laughed. 

# # #

“Cor, me bones is aching!” Richie exclaimed a while later in his Irish Cop Voice. “It’s gettin’ on now, m'boy! We’re due for a good rest now, I’d say!” 

“Beep beep, Richie.” 

“Oh, come on, Eds,” he said in his normal voice. “Let’s get a hotel for the night. I’m gonna fall asleep at the wheel if I keep this up.”

They had been driving for hours now, and they were both feeling very cramped and tired in that car. So Eddie conceded, and it wasn’t long before Richie was pulling up to the cart port of a Hilton Garden Inn off the side of the freeway. He killed the engine and they paused for a moment before exiting the car. The reality of the situation suddenly dawned on them at the same time; here they were, two men in their early 40s—who had just confessed their near-lifelong love for each other but hours before—spending their first night together. Richie was the first to leave the car, awkwardly jogging around to the open the door before Eddie could even reach for the handle. 

“After you, my kind sir.” Richie bowed with a flourish of his hands. 

“Who knew Richie the Trashmouth was such a gentleman,” Eddie said sarcastically, as Richie straightened out, red in the face. 

He stepped out of the car carefully, determined to keep his balance. Wobbly legs—cramped from the long car ride—betrayed him, however, and he stumbled on his second step. Richie’s arms shot out, hooking around his shoulders and waist and pulling him close. Eddie had been in no real danger, probably would have been able to catch himself on the car, but he didn’t point that out or complain as Richie’s arms wrapped around him. 

“You good, Eds?” Richie asked, his voice surprisingly soft. 

“Don’t call me ‘Eds,’” Eddie said, but placed a quick peck on Richie’s cheek. “Now are we gonna stand here all night, or can we go get a damn room already?”

“I thought it’d be nice to sleep out here. We can look at the stars. Listen to the roar of semi-trucks.” 

They broke apart, and Richie’s cheek was burning where Eddie’s lips had touched it. He closed the car door and locked it. 

“Sounds real fucking romantic, but I’d like a bath. And a bed.” 

“And I can make that happen, Sweaty Eddie.” 

“Ok, _ definitely _ don’t call me _ that _ shit.” 

Richie snickered as he followed Eddie. He tried walking faster than him, to get the door once again, but Eddie was on to him. They practically raced for the door, a race that Eddie won. He wore a smug look on his face as he opened it for Richie, performing a little mock bow and gesturing with his left arm. Richie erupted into real laughter then, blocking the doorway. The woman at the front desk watched them with a puzzled, forced smile. 

“Hurry up, asshole, you’re in the way.”

Eddie barreled past him, making a beeline for the desk. 

“Short, but _ strong,” _ Richie teased, walking behind him with a loping gait. 

“Checking in?” the woman, whose name tag read _Karen_, asked politely. She was roughly their age, give or take a few years, and the bright smile she wore did not reach her tired eyes. 

“We’d actually like to make a reservation,” Eddie said. Her eyes flicked to his left arm for a moment, resting at his bandages and his lack of a hand for but a second, before going back to meet his own. Her smile did not falter, but there was something else in her eyes now he didn’t much care for: pity.

“Of course, sir, let me see what we have available.” Her fingers clacked on the keyboard for a quick moment before Karen continued: “It looks like we have a an _ accessible—" _ (Eddie sure as fuck hated the way she said _ that _)"—room with two double beds available. May I get your card and ID, please?” 

Richie slid over his own cards. 

“We’ll actually take a suite please,” he said, and both of their eyes snapped to him. “Nicest one you got. With a _ king _ bed.” He paused for a split-second, before adding: “I mean, if that’s ok with you, Eds.” 

“Th-that’s fine.”

Eddie felt the color rise in his cheeks, all of that building frustration simply melted away as his attraction to Richie hit him like a sack of bricks. This was a side of him he had rarely seen: cool, confident, effortlessly in-charge. He allowed himself one quick look, eyes traveling up and down the length of his boxy, lean body in a second. His pulse quickened, and he cleared his throat.

“Um, let me check," Karen answered. 

More fast clicking on the keyboard. 

“Yes, it looks like we have one available. Room 237.”

“Perfect. We’ll take it for the night. And we’ll probably be needing a late check out.”

“Of course.” 

She grabbed his cards and began to enter his information into the computer. After Richie signed some form promising not to trash the room, she slid his ID and credit card back over, along with a pair of keycards. 

“Thenk yeh sew much, me dearie,” Richie the Irish cop said, grabbing the keys. 

“It’s my pleasure, thank you for choosing Hilton.” Her strained smile seemed a little more genuine now, but that tired look was back as the two walked away. 

“Here, I’ll meet you at the room. I’m gonna park the car and bring up the luggage.” 

Eddie nodded, taking the keycard as Richie passed it to him. He headed to the elevator, foot tapping impatiently as he waited. A soft _ ding _ signaled its arrival, and Eddie stepped in. It was empty. _ Thank God. _Not that it was a huge surprise; it was nearly a quarter past midnight. The ride was a short one, letting him out on the second floor. He followed the signs to their suite, heart beating faster and faster with each step he took. 

He finally reached the room. The little brass numbers glinted in the soft light of the hallway, winking invitingly at Eddie. He unlocked the door, flipping on the lights as he hurried in. The suite consisted of two spacious rooms: a living area furnished with the standard desk, coffee table, and pullout couch, along with a large flatscreen television; there was also a small kitchenette containing a microwave, mini-fridge, and a small sink; a pair of French doors led to the bedroom. Eddie was pleased at how modern the furniture was, a stark difference from the old wooden things at the Derry Town House.

Shivering, he pushed that thought away and walked through the French doors. The room was huge, with a bed to fit centered on the far wall. Eddie thought about how that bed looked almost intimidating, like it was taunting him; a bed that size was made for more than just sleeping. He looked around the room, anywhere to avoid looking at that bed and the implications that came with it. Another television sat on the set of drawers that faced the bed, bigger than the one in the living room. There was another door in there, one that led to the restroom, and Eddie realized all at once how badly he had to pee. He practically ran in, turning on the light as he did so. He quickly shoved down his pants, sighing contentedly as he pissed. 

He heard the door open as he was carefully washing his hand. Richie was making a real scene out of huffing and puffing as he brought their luggage in, a scene which Eddie caught the end of. A grin lit across his face right as Richie collapsed on the couch, chest comically heaving up and down. 

“Did you pack the entire fucking pharmacy?” he gasped. 

“I packed the whole damn hospital."

He bent over his suitcase and unzipped it, rummaging to find his body wash. A wave of tiredness hit him then, and he suddenly didn’t really want to bathe anymore. He could see the bed through the doorway in his peripheral vision. His heart was racing again. He glanced at Richie, and realized that he had been staring at him from his spot on the couch. 

“You good, Eds?” Richie asked for the second time that night. 

“Y-yeah,” Eddie stammered, licking his lips. "Just r-real tired."

“Watch out, you don’t want Big Bill to find out you’re gunning for his gig.” Richie threw him a wink, before his eyebrows drew together in concern. “But in all seriousness, are you feeling ok? Maybe you should lie down.” 

“Yeah, maybe I should.” 

His looked directly at the bed this time, not moving. Richie’s followed his, and he suddenly understood why Eddie was acting so strange. It had been in the back of his mind as well; asking for a king bed had been suggestive enough in itself. Now that they were both there—staring the stark reality of sharing a bed straight in the eye—the weight of the expectation was almost crushing. 

But then Eddie was walking through those French doors, quickly and with purpose, and Richie found his feet following in turn. Eddie turned his back to him, undressing quietly. Richie watched with unabashed infatuation as he pulled his shirt up and over his head with his right hand, eyes hungrily raking over the toned muscles of his back. Eddie was acutely aware of Richie’s stare. He had expected to feel overwhelmingly self-aware, as he always had with Myra, but he felt nothing but thrill and exhilaration as he stripped down to his boxer-briefs.

Richie’s lips parted as he drank in the sight of those underwear clinging perfectly to Eddie’s ass. His jaw completely dropped, however, when Eddie turned around. 

“What in the actual _ fuck?” _ Richie sounded genuinely offended, and that spark of confidence that had surged through Eddie faltered. It must have shown on his face, because he quickly continued: “No, no, I’m not—it’s just— _ what the fuck _ ? Why— _ how _ do you look like _ that?” _

Richie gestured up and down Eddie’s body. 

“You have fucking_ abs, _ dude! I don’t think I’ve ever had abs in my _ life.” _

“So, what? I just like to take care of myself,” Eddie answered. And it was the truth, to an extent. Deep down, though, he knew he kept his body in such shape because he was afraid of ending up like his mother, not that he’d ever say that out loud. 

“First Ben got hot, now you got _ hotter, _ when’s it gonna be my turn? _ ” _

“Stop fucking feeling sorry for yourself, Trashmouth.” Eddie rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide his smile. “Now let’s see what we’re working with here.” 

Richie’s chest rose and fell heavily as he sighed, before quickly undressing down to his own boxers. Eddie’s eyes ran up and down his body for the second time that night, but before he could properly enjoy the view, a terrible memory forced itself to the forefront of his mind. He saw 

_ Richie. Climbing into his shower. Kissing him, further and further down his chest. But it wasn’t Richie. It was Pennywise, wearing his skin, trying to trick Eddie, and it almost worked, he almost let It do what he wanted the Real Richie to do so badly, almost let It suck his— _

“Earth to Eddie, you there bud?” 

_ (i’ll suck your cock for a quarter kid) _

Richie’s hand was waving across his vision, which had gone unfocused for a moment. Eddie gasped, that terrible tightening sensation threatening to close off his throat. He concentrated on steadying his breathing, feeling Richie’s hand close around his right bicep. He was vaguely aware of his feet moving as he was steered to the bed. His throat slowly opened as he sat on the bed, gasping and gulping for air. 

“Eddie—”

“I’m fine,” he insisted in a weak voice. “Just got a little dizzy for a moment.” 

“Wow, I didn’t think I was _ that _ hot.” 

Richie waggled his eyebrows up and down, and Eddie let out a shaky laugh. 

“Why don’t we just lie down and try to get some sleep?” He yanked back the sheets, clearing a space for to lie on. "It’s been a long day, and we got an even longer one ahead of us.”

Eddie nodded in agreement, and carefully climbed under the covers and laid on his right side. Richie went around turning out most of the lights, leaving a small lamp on in the living area. The soft light glowed through the open door, and Eddie felt Richie slip under the sheets a moment later. His heart was hammering so hard and fast now, he was sure that Richie could hear it. It somehow pounded even quicker as Richie scooted closer to him, so close he could feel his leg hair tickling the back of his thighs. 

“Can I be the big spoon?” Richie’s voice was soft in his ear, and he could hear the smile in his voice. 

“Just hurry up and fucking cuddle me already, Tozier.” 

Richie didn’t need to be told twice, snaking his arm around Eddie’s stomach and pulling him tight against his body. Eddie grasped that arm with his right hand, and his breath hitched again as one of Richie’s knees pushed between his own thighs, resting there. They were both pleasantly surprised at how natural it felt—how _ good _it felt—to lie there together in a tangle of arms and legs. The weight that had been hanging over them since arriving at the hotel had finally dissipated, and they lay there in a comfortable silence for a long while. Richie rested his nose on Eddie’s head, breathing in his familiar scent.

"Rich? You still awake?" Eddie eventually piped up. 

"Barely," he mumbled into his hair. 

"I just wanted to thank you, for everything. I don't think I could have done all this alone." 

Richie pulled him even closer, savoring the feeling is their skin pressed against each other. 

"You really shouldn't be thanking me, I saved your life for entirely selfish reasons. Now where's my goodnight kiss?"

Eddie turned his head back and Richie's lips were pressing against his before he had a chance to respond. It was a quick, soft affair, but it got his heart racing all the same, Richie's too. They both suddenly felt wide awake. They came apart, but Richie's face was hovering over Eddie's, and the smaller man was very conscious of the eyes trained on his parted lips. Their noses brushed against each other, their mouths a hair's breadth apart. It was Eddie who closed that minute distance now, catching Richie's lips in his own. He felt him recoil slightly in surprise, for the briefest moment. And then Eddie turned over, wrapping his arms around his neck and tilting his head to deepen their kiss. 

Eddie was enthralled in the feeling of Richie's strong hands curling around his waist, bringing him even closer still. He loved how Richie's lips moved roughly against his own, the way his stubble scratched against his skin. It occurred to him he'd never really enjoyed kissing _ anyone _ before (if you could even count the quick, emotionless pecks he had given Myra as real kisses); he had always been too self-concious, too worried about germs, too _ unattracted— _there had been only one exception, of course. His mind flashed to that ninth grade sleepover, and his lips pulled into a smile against Richie's. 

Exhilarated, Eddie pressed against him until he was lying flat on the bed. Richie was suddenly _ very _ aware of the heat pooling in his groin, the evidence growing in his boxers. And as Eddie straddled him it seemed the feeling was mutual; he could feel the proof pressing against his stomach. That heat in his gut escalated to a roaring fire, and he dimly thought to himself, _ I must have actually died in those sewers because this is heaven. _ And then another thought: _ Except you're definitely not getting into heaven, so you have to be alive, cause Hell couldn't be this nice. This is real. This is _real. 

Then Eddie's lips moved away from his, pressing instead against his jaw line, then down to his throat. As much as Richie wanted to enjoy the feeling of his mouth against his skin, his nostrils flared as 

_ The wet, rotting smell of the sewer hit him like a brick wall, a red balloon bobbing sickly against the ceiling. The Thing The Was Not Eddie held him against the bed as he struggled, cackling hungrily as razor teeth hovered, no _ floated, _ over his throat. It was going to kill him, It was going to tear him apart, devour him piece by piece, starting with his cock— _

Richie jolted, scooting back too fast and knocking his crown against the headboard. Eddie almost fell over, catching himself on the wall at the last moment. Richie's chest heaved, wide eyes searching frantically around the room for that fucking balloon. But he wasn't at the Derry Townhouse, and the real Eddie was staring at him in concern, mouth moving. 

"...thing ok, Rich? Is this going too fast, 'cause we can slow down." 

_ (isn't this what you want faggot) _

Eddie slid off of him, sitting up by his side. Removing his glasses and setting them on the bedside drawer, Richie shut his eyes tightly and rubbed them with shaking hands.

“I’m sorry, Richie, I shouldn’t have—"

“No, no, don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Richie finally forced out, also sitting up. His cock was softening in his boxers. “It was that fucking clown. Mother_ fucker.” _

Eddie’s eyes widened, his blood running cold. His own eyes darted around the room, making sure they were still alone. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Something else happened while we were in Derry, the first night we were there,” Richie began. 

“At the Townhouse,” Eddie finished for him. He could still hear Richie’s panicked screams, remembered how he was the only one too scared to help him hold the door shut. 

Richie launched into a quick explanation of how Pennywise had tricked him, how he had worn Eddie’s face and how they had almost--he couldn’t even bring himself to say that part out loud. But Eddie understood all the same, anger boiling up over that fucking clown, how it had used their deepest fears to try to keep them apart just like when they were kids. 

“That motherfuckering clown,” Eddie muttered vehemently under his breath. “I can’t believe It did the same shit to you.” When Richie shot him a startled, questioning look, he continued: “It came into my fucking shower. Looking like you. I came so close to letting him….” Eddie was having reservations similar to the ones Richie had a few minutes before. “It was all a distraction, so I wouldn’t notice Bowers.” His fingers ran across the thin, fresh scar on his cheek. “I hope you got a few good licks in for me, Tozier.” 

“I ripped off that bastard’s fucking arm. Eye for an eye.”

Eddie actually smiled at that, before frowning again. 

“I can’t believe it, this entire time….” He repeated, voice trailing off, before he fixed Richie with a determined stare. “Never a-fucking-gain. It’s never going to put that hold on us again.” 

Richie nodded in agreement, brows still drawn together. 

“As soon as we reach Cali, I’m getting us the best fucking therapy money can buy,” he said simply. 

They held their stare for a minute, before bursting into raucous laughter. They laughed and laughed until their sides hurt, tears pricking their eyes. Eddie collapsed into the bed, reaching his right arm over to rest on Richie’s chest. Their hands found each other, fingers interlocking. Richie hummed happily to himself, hardly aware that he was doing so. Eddie leaned his head against his chest, listening to the low vibrations. Richie’s other arm snaked around his shoulders, clasping Eddie tight against him. He reveled in every chance he got to hold him; part of his brain still halfway believed that this all had to be some trick, some mirage. But he could feel Eddie’s warmth, could see his chest rising and falling in a syncopated rhythm with his own breathing, could smell that musky, familiar scent. 

Richie was hit with a sudden wave of intense longing for the man in his arms. He could remember now how he would dream of this moment, night after night. And it had finally arrived, somehow still sullied by that fucking _ clown. _ A sense of determination replaced the longing. _ I’m not going to let that fucker ruin this for me, for _ us, he thought indignantly. _ I’ve waited too damn long. _

“Hey, Eds?”he said tentatively, licking his lips. 

“Mmm hmm?” 

“I kinda wanna kiss you again. And maybe some other stuff,” he added nervously, unsure of his reaction. 

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Eddie angled his head up, a small smirk playing on his lips. 

He tried to think of some sexy, witty comeback, but his traitor mouth was moving without his permission again. 

“I’d _ really _ like to eat your ass.” 

Whatever Eddie had expected Richie to say, it definitely hadn't been _ that. _His mouth—which had been ready to retort to just about anything else—snapped shut, and his cheeks were glowing red. And before he could actually think of a response, Richie's fingertips were under his chin, tilting his head up to kiss him again, hard and deep. Eddie's mouth moved fiercely in response, heart pounding furiously as he felt his tongue dart out and run across his bottom lip, requesting entrance. Eddie granted him this, mouth opening to allow Richie's tongue to explore. For once, bacteria and germs and sickness were the furthest thing from his mind. Richie's presence consumed his thoughts; all he could think of was the feeling of his tongue in his mouth, how it would feel against other parts of his body. 

Almost as if reading his mind, Richie pulled away sharply, lips leaving a fiery trail of kisses down Eddie's neck. Eddie leaned back into the fluffy hotel pillows, letting out a low moan that went straight to Richie's cock. That heat was growing in his groin again, mounting with each kiss that sent him further and further down that incredibly chiseled stomach. Eddie's hand was fumbling around the waistband of his underwear, which Richie eagerly helped him remove, tossing them over his head. His movements slowed to a stop, taking in the sight of Eddie's beautiful dick as it curved up towards his bellybutton, away from the thick patch of pubic hair that grew at the base. His cheeks were still a bright, burning crimson as he looked down at Richie with lidded eyes, almost matching the flushed skin of his erection. 

Flashing a wicked smile up at Eddie, Richie's lips met skin again. He kissed and sucked every spot he could reach around his groin—everywhere except his actual cock, that is. Another small, pleading moan fell from Eddie's pink lips, and gooseflesh erupted on his arms and legs as Richie's mouth moved across the inside of his thighs. And then he was lifting Eddie’s legs, resting those pale thighs on either shoulder as his head dipped even lower still. 

“R-Richie?” Eddie suddenly called out in an urgent tone. 

Richie immediately stopped, jerking his head up to meet Eddie’s glazed eyes. That sight—Richie staring up at him from between his legs, hair tousled and a slight flush across his cheeks—was nearly enough to set Eddie on the edge. 

“Is this okay?” he asked in a low voice. “Is this moving too fast?” 

“No—this is great, I just—” Eddie took a deep breath. “I’ve never done all this before. Just, go slow.”

Richie offered him a salacious grin, planting another slow kiss on the inside of his leg. 

“Whatever you say, Eddie Spaghetti.” 

“Oh my god, _ please _don’t fucking call me that right—”

But Richie’s head had sunken lower again, lips pressing hard against the spot between his balls and his asshole. Whatever words were coming next were taken right out of Eddie’s mouth, replaced with a needy whine that he had never heard himself make in his life. He felt Richie’s large hands gently cup his ass, and the squeeze they gave him made his entire body jolt. And then he was spreading Eddie apart, lips coming down directly on his entrance in a sloppy kiss. He couldn’t have stopped the loud, wanton moan that fell from his mouth even if he wanted to. When Richie’s tongue slipped out and began licking broad, even strokes across his asshole, Eddie found his words again. 

“Holy fucking _ fuck, _Richie,” he gasped, hand shooting down to tangle itself in his long hair. 

Hearing Eddie moan his name like that—so full of desire, so full of _ need _—was enough to fan those flames in his gut to a full on bonfire, his erection struggling against the cloth of his boxers. His tongue circled around his sensitive entrance, and Eddie’s hand was pulling none too gently on his hair now. He needed to hear him moan like that again, wanted him to scream his name. Richie ardently lavished over his asshole, switching between those broad licks and quick, staccato lapping. 

“Oh Jesus-fucking-Christ, Richie. That feels _ so—fucking—good.” _

His ass was almost dripping with Richie’s saliva now, and he pulled his mouth away, earning a small groan from Eddie. He pressed his thumb gently against his entrance, mimicking the circular motions he’d been making with his tongue. Applying a firmer pressure, Richie felt the muscle contract slightly around his thumb, and his own cock was throbbing almost painfully in his excitement. He pressed his lips down once on his exposed hole, sucking gently; Eddie let out a low, incomprehensible stream of curses as his tongue darted out once more. One hand snaked around his hip to grasp his cock, stroking slowly.

“If y-you keep on like that, I might cum,” Eddie choked out after a few more minutes of this, neck straining. 

Richie immediately pulled away at the warning, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Eddie crossed his legs over, and Richie took his place beside him again, that same grin plastered across his face. 

“Goddamn, Richie,” Eddie panted. “God-fucking-damn.” 

“I think that’s the only compliment you’ve ever given me.” 

Eddie’s eyes wandered down, landing on Richie’s crotch. His erection strained against his boxers, and his hand fingered the waistband. 

“Let’s get these off you.” 

Richie gladly obliged, shoving his underwear down around his ankles and awkwardly kicking them off. His cock stood tall and proud, flushed a darker red than Eddie’s. A shiny drop of precum glistened on the tip, and Eddie found himself wondering what it tasted like. 

“Sit,” he suddenly instructed, pointing to the edge of the bed. 

So Richie sat, his dick swaying in the air as he moved. Eddie crawled off the bed, positioning himself comfortably on the ground directly in front of him. Mimicking Richie, he placed a trail of sloppy, wet kisses up the inside of his thigh, feeling Richie’s body stiffen beneath his lips. When he reached his cock he stopped, eyes darting over every inch. 

“I guess all those dick jokes weren’t over-compensation after all,” he said matter-of-factly. 

Richie’s laugh turned into a long, low groan as Eddie wrapped his lips around his head and sucked _ hard. _His tongue prodded against the slit, finally tasting the precum that had built up there. It was salty, and hot, and everything Eddie ever dreamed it could be. His lips slowly slid up and down Richie’s quivering cock; he’d never given a blowjob before in his life, so he simply did what he would have wanted done to him. His hand wrapped around the shaft, meeting his lips as he worked up and down. He felt fingers curl into his hair, pulling gently. 

“Ah, _ fuck, _ Eddie—how are you so _ good—” _

Richie’s words broke into needy panting as Eddie picked up his pace, removing his hand and letting his mouth do all of the work. He was proud of how far he was able to take him in, lips almost meeting the swaths of pubic hair that curled around his groin. And if the noises he was pulling out of Richie now were any indicator, he seemed to be doing pretty fucking good with his first blowjob, if he did say so himself. 

“Fuck, Eds, I’m getting real fucking _ close _ here,” Richie gasped, hand tightening his grip onhis hair. 

Eddie looked up at him then, mouth full of his cock, and Richie thought he actually was going to cum right then and there. He stopped, though, pulling his dick out with an audible _ pop! _ Releasing his hair, Richie collapsed into the bed, chest heaving. Eddie stood, popping his back and neck loudly, before dropping down next to him. 

“I almost strained my fucking neck,” he grumbled, rubbing it gingerly. 

“Your services are most appreciated, my good sir,” Richie mumbled, saluting him lazily. 

“So, uh, what next?” Eddie asked nervously. He sure as hell wasn’t ready for bed, but his nerves were starting to return. 

Richie flipped on his side, propping his head up on his elbow. 

“That depends, Eduardo. How far did you want to take this tonight?”

“All the way,” Eddie said at once, surprising them both. He gulped, and nodded, as if trying to convince himself. His eyes locked on Richie’s. “I _ want _ you.” 

And then Richie was kissing him again, knocking him flat against the bed. Their lips moved passionately together for a few short moments, before he tore away and hurried into the living area. Eddie watched him dig through his luggage for a moment, bewildered. Understanding dawned on him when Richie returned with a small bottle and a familiar little metallic square clutched in his shaking hand. He wasted no time on explanation; there was none needed. He uncapped the bottle, dripping some lube onto his fingers. Richie assumed the position from earlier, situating himself between Eddie’s legs and resting his thighs on his shoulders once more. 

“Richie?” 

And again, Richie was peering up at him from between his legs, and the view made Eddie’s breath catch in his throat. 

“Be gentle.” 

Richie nodded, and bent his head down once more, focusing on intently on Eddie’s entrance. He squeezed some more lube directly on his asshole, and Eddie flinched at the unexpected coldness. And then his finger was pressing very softly against the sensitive skin, circling gently. A soft, sort of breathy moan fell from Eddie’s lips, and it grew into a proper groan as that finger prodded even harder. Richie dripped yet even more lube onto his finger, and it slipped inside of him smoothly. 

“Oh!” he cried huskily at the intrusion, and Richie stopped. 

“Is this ok?”

“Yes, just d-different from what I expected. You can keep going.” 

So Richie continued, slowly pushing his finger further and further in. Eddie moaned again as he pulled it almost all of the way out, before pushing right back in. He continued like this for some time, working that one finger in and out, in and out, until he was panting his name quietly under his breath. 

“I’m going to put another one in, now,” Richie warned, lips caressing his inner thigh. 

Eddie nodded, bracing himself. Richie pulled his finger all the way out, slathering a thick layer of lube on his first two fingers. He felt the pressure against his entrance again, and his moan was strangled in his throat as Richie forced the digits in, moving in a circular motion to help stretch him out. And then he was moving in and out again, starting at that slow pace and gradually increasing speed. He delighted at every moan and cry that he was drawing from Eddie now, loved the way he pushed his ass against his hand in an attempt to take his fingers even deeper. 

“Think you can take one more?”

Eddie could still only nod, chest rising and falling quickly. Richie’s hand was practically covered in lube now, and he pressed three fingers against his opening. At first it didn’t seem like they were going to fit, and Richie almost withdrew his hand, but then they slid in slowly. Eddie’s hand shot out to grip the sheets around him, his left arm thrown across his face. He was cursing under his breath again, back arching slightly as Richie’s pushed his fingers as far as they would go. His hips began to rock up and down very slowly, taking the digits in and out at his own pace. His partner was whimpering now, and Richie began to move his hand, working his fingers inside of Eddie. His other hand found his own cock, stroking himself gently as he began to fuck the smaller man with his hand. This went on for a while, just until Eddie thought he could about take no more, and Richie removed his digits. 

Eddie moaned at the loss, and their eyes met. That look alone told Richie that he was ready for what was coming next. Kneeling, he quickly tore open the condom wrapper, sliding the latex over his quivering erection. Richie slathered himself with lube, sliding his hand up and down his erection to make sure it was coated evenly. He lined up his cock with his hole, pressing his tip against the sensitive entrance, meeting his eyes once more. Their eye contact did not break as Richie slid in gradually, stopping around mid-shaft. Eddie’s lips parted at the stretch to release a deep, husky moan at the intrusion, back arching violently. 

“Does that feel ok? Does it hurt?” Richie asked, concern on his face. 

“Hell yeah it fucking hurts,” Eddie gasped. “But I’ve been through worse.” He offered Richie a rueful smile. “You can keep going. Slow.” 

Richie complied, hips pushing moving forward. Eddie was still so _ tight, _ and _ hot, _and those faces and noises he was making up at him were nearly enough to put him right on the edge of glory. But Richie Tozier was no one-pump man, and he was determined to give Eddie Kaspbrak the best fuck he’d ever given. Soon his hips met skin, and his legs were hooking around his body to hold him in place. They stayed there for a moment, almost painfully frozen, while Eddie got used to his girth. He gulped hard, and nodded again. Richie slowly, tortuously pulled most of the way out, before sinking his pelvis forward again. 

“God, Eds, you’re so _ fucking _ tight.” 

He kept that incredibly slow pace for a while, until his cock slid in and out a little easier. He finally allowed himself to pick up the speed, a series of low moans streaming from his mouth. Eddie's hips began to rock with his rhythm, pushing down so Richie could sink in as far as possible. And then, all at once, Eddie began to tighten around him, neck straining and he let out the loudest groan yet. Richie had found it, his prostate, that amazing little bundle of nerves that was about to give him the strongest orgasm he’d had in his life. 

_ “Holy fuck, Richie, you feel so fucking good, holy fuck, Richie, holy fuuuck.” _

Eddie’s hand wrapped around his own cock, stroking up and down in tempo with Richie’s now thrusting hips. Each movement was punctuated by him crying out Richie’s name. Richie was close now, hips bucking madly as he poundef into the smaller man, hitting that spot each time. He took it all in stride, ass greedily pushing down on his cock. That familiar tightening in his gut was building and building and Richie was so fucking close.

And then Eddie’s back was arching again, so violently that for a moment Richie was sure it might snap in half. He had little time to consider this, however, as Eddie’s walls clamped down on him so tight, and all coherent thought was expelled from his mind. Eddie’s hand was flying now, and his orgasm struck him like lightening. His breath hitched, eyes rolling into the back of his head as the world exploded into a whirlwind of color, his semen shooting up and landing across Richie’s chest. And then he was cumming, too—practically screaming Eddie’s name, hips pumping erratically into his perfectly tight ass. He froze there for a moment, riding out the wave of his orgasm, tears pricking at his eyes at the sheer intensity of it all. 

And then it was all over. His cock was softening inside of Eddie, and Richie gingerly pulled out; his partner let out a small moan at the loss of pressure. He pulled the spent condom off, barely able to tie the end with his violently shaking hands. He tossed it to the floor, before collapsing on the bed. Eddie immediately rolled into his arms, chest rising and falling heavily. It was a moment before either of them spoke, each basking in the afterglow of their orgasms. 

“Wow,” was all Richie could manage after a few breathless minutes. 

“Wow is right,” Eddie agreed. 

_ “Why _ did we wait so long to do that?”

“Because we’re idiots.”

A laugh bubbled out of Richie. They laid there a little while longer, before Eddie insisted that they needed to bathe before sleeping. Richie couldn’t argue with that, so they bathed together, barely able to keep their hands off one another. Any memories of Pennywise or Derry had been pushed from their minds for the time being. Their bath ended soon enough, and they were back in bed again, holding each other tightly. It didn’t take long for them to fall asleep, tangled in one another’s arms.

For the first time in a long while, Richie and Eddie slept peacefully. Neither of them dreamt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long to write. It's been a while since I write some good ol smut lol hope it was worth the wait


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been taking me longer to update, life has gotten a little busy. Hope y'all enjoy this one!! As always comments/kudos always appreciated.

Richie's eyes blinked open blearily. He was curled up in a near fetal position in a very soft bed, and an arm was snaked tightly around his stomach. He laid there in a sleepy haze for a moment, enjoying the warmth pressed against him. It was a while before he had any coherent thought, and he was nearly falling right back asleep again, when the realization of exactly _ whose _ arm was clutching him so firmly hit him like a truck. 

_ Eddie. _

Then the memory of the night before was flooding back to him, and Richie was wide awake. Something in his gut stirred as he recalled the way Eddie’s skin tasted under his lips, the bulge of his cock in Eddie’s mouth, the way Eddie moaned his name while he plowed into him, so desperate, and needy, and _ hot _—

And then that warmth shifted behind him, somehow pressing even closer still, and Richie could feel the stony thickness of Eddie's cock poking against his back. _ That _ really got that those muscles in his groin working, although a voice in the back of his head faintly reminded him that it was just morning wood. No doubt Eddie would immediately run to piss as soon as he woke up, and that beautiful erection would be gone. 

_ But a guy can dream, can’t he? _

Like clockwork, Eddie stirred. He pulled away from Richie, clambering out of bed sleepily. He stood too quickly, nearly losing his balance. Richie almost cried out in alarm, but the sound stopped in his throat when Eddie caught himself against the wall. He wordlessly hurried into the bathroom, and the unmistakable sound of piss hitting the toilet bowl followed a few moments later. The toilet flushed, and Richie listened as Eddie washed his hand for a full sixty seconds, and then brushed his teeth for another couple of minutes. He was so busy absorbing these sounds, delightfully domestic, that he barely noticed the contented grin spreading across his own face. 

Richie draped himself across the bed mock-seductively, propping his head up on one arm as Eddie made his way back to the bedroom. His eyes raked up and down his nude body; even without his glasses, he could see how fucking _ ripped _ Eddie was. He could also see, with mild disappointment, that his cock had softened—just as he had guessed it would. 

“Good morning, handsome,” Richie breathed, trying and succeeding in sounding very much like a sex-hotline operator. “Ready for round two?” 

“Not until you brush your teeth, Trashbreath. I can practically smell it from here.” 

“I don’t believe in fluoride.”

It took every ounce of Richie's self control to keep a straight face, wanting so badly to crack up over the hard, impatient stare Eddie fixed him with. 

"I'm not going to dignify that statement with a response," he said flatly.

"Sounds like you just did, Eddie my love.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, placing an annoyed hand on his hip. It was a familiar gesture, one that Richie recognized and adored from their childhood. His left arm chopped up and down through the air, punctuating his next words: 

“Well, you’re not getting a good morning kiss from me until you brush your damn teeth.” 

Richie made a real show out of scrambling out of the bed, almost tripping over himself in his haste to get to the restroom. Eddie leaned against the door frame, watching as he grabbed his toothbrush. Never one to disappoint an audience, Richie bent real slowly over the sink and waggled his eyebrows up and down at Eddie through the mirror. The former barely noticed the gesture however, as his eyes were in fact glued to Richie’s ass. He smirked to himself as he began to brush his teeth, watching Eddie’s reflection. His groin tightened when he saw that his length had hardened somewhat, not quite a full erection, but it was clear where his mind was.

Richie finished brushing his teeth, gargling and spitting with a flourish. Eddie's eyes were still trained on his ass, and didn't snap up to meet his own until Richie cleared his throat. 

"Enjoying the view?"

"Yeah, actually, I was," Eddie answered matter-of-factly. "Got a problem with that, Tozier?"

Richie practically swaggered over to him, placing a hand over the doorframe above his head and looming over the shorter man. Eddie loved that height, loved the way Richie towered over him; he always had. And he especially loved how close Richie was getting now, the smell of his minty breath misting over his face, the heat emanating from his skin. It reminded him of the night before, of how _ good _ it felt when Richie had lavished over him, first with his tongue, then his fingers, and then his cock. How that heat had enveloped them both. His own member grew even harder at the thought, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Richie, who was now all but pressed against him. 

"I'm still waiting for that kiss," Richie nearly whispered, and Eddie felt gooseflesh ripple down his arms and legs. 

"Then come and get it, Trashmouth." 

Richie finally closed that distance between them, clashing their lips together passionately. Eddie stumbled at the force, but Richie's arms shot out and caught him before he could fall. He pulled him close, leading him towards the bed while their lips continued to move furiously together. Eddie's calves reached the bed and Richie let him fall now, sprawling on his back. His chest heaved as he looked up at him, cock now flushed red and fully erect. Richie's eyes raced up and down his body for a second, before landing on that quivering erection. Then he was practically on top of Eddie, attacking his chest with kisses. Richie was unable to contain himself, desperate to taste Eddie again, to hear him moaning his name. His lips moved further south quickly, very different than the slow, torturous trail he had followed the night before. 

A subconscious part of Eddie's mind was grateful for Richie's haste; had he been moving any slower, Eddie surely would have begun to think of the leper, 

_ (i'll suck your cock for a quarter kid) _

or about The Thing That Was Not Richie, ogling up at him with eyes full of long, rusty nails,

_ (STICK NAILS IN THE EYES OF FAGOTS (FOR GOD!)) _

or Myra,

_ (I TOLD you not to leave me, and now you’re missing an arm and now you’re GAY) _

or—God forbid—his mother.

_ (god has punished all of those sinners by giving them AIDS and YOU will get AIDS too if you even THINK about touching another boy) _

Thankfully, Eddie did not think about any of these terrible things; he could only focus on Richie's lips—like fire on his skin, and his hands—so big and strong, holding his hips down. He was vaguely aware that he was about to receive his first ever blowjob, and his pulse pounded in his ears as one of those hands wrapped around his cock. And then Richie’s tongue was dragging up his entire length, so wet and hot against the sensitive skin, and a needy moan slipped from Eddie’s mouth. 

_ “Richie,” _ he breathed, hand moving down to fist itself in his long, dark hair. 

Richie looked up at him with a sly smile as they locked eyes, pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock. He loved the way Eddie’s lips parted as he stared down at him, the way his brows contracted as his hand squeezed gently up and down his erection. His lips enveloped his cock, all the while maintaining that intense eye contact. It was finally broken as Eddie closed his eyes, lost in the pure bliss of Richie’s mouth as he sucked hard, tongue swirling around his head. A groan built in his throat as those lips began to move up and down his length, so wet and _ good. _

_ "Fuck, _ Richie. Your fucking _ mouth." _

Richie pulled his cock from his lips, working one hand up and down the shaft that was now slick with his spit. Eddie's grip on his hair slackened, but did not break. 

"You like that, Eds?" his voice was low and sultry, eyes still drinking in the sight of Eddie's flushed face. "You like my trashmouth on your cock?"

"God, _ yes." _

Then Richie was taking him into his mouth once again, head bobbing up and down in unison with his hand. He could feel Eddie shaking beneath him, hips bucking up ever so slightly as the fingers in his hair tightened. He held him down with both hands now, and Eddie's low whimpers escalated to a full, loud moaning as Richie took his cock all the way in, tip hitting the back of his throat. He held it there for a moment, letting out a muffled gagging noise. Eddie could feel the muscles of his throat working around his head, and that heat in his groin threatened to spill over completely_ . _

_ "Fuck, _ Rich," he groaned, panting. "I want you to fuck me."

His erection left Richie's mouth with a loud slurping noise, and Eddie's hips were bucking up again, searching for that friction. 

"I love hearing you say shit like that." 

Richie was reaching for the bottle of lube that had stayed on the bedside table while they slept. He laid it next to Eddie's hips on the bed. 

"And I love the way you taste."

Richie situated himself between his legs, spreading his cheeks and dipping his head low. Eddie's breath hitched as his tongue swirled around his entrance. Richie wasted no time, lapping sloppily at the ring of muscle, then pressing his tongue hard against his hole, drawing a loud and shuddering groan from his partner. 

"And I love the noises you make," Richie muttered after a few minutes of eating Eddie's perfect ass.

And then his finger—coated with lube—replaced his tongue, slipping in easily. Eddie was moaning his name again, voice low and broken. He worked that one digit in and out for a moment, letting him get used to the intrusion, before slipping in a second slick finger. His body jolted at the pressure, precum leaking from his hardened member. Richie's head moved up, tongue darting out to lick that shiny pearl from the slit of his cock, and Eddie's head rolled back into the bed. He bit his lip, trying and failing to contain the loud cry that left his mouth. 

Richie was up on his knees now, fingers still working inside of Eddie to stretch his tight opening. And then his hand was gone, and Eddie whimpered in anticipation of what he knew was coming next. Richie was slathering a layer of lubricant on his neglected cock, releasing his own small moan. Eddie watched him stroke himself, heart pounding and chest heaving. Then Richie was positioning his hips, and he felt the tip of his erection pressing against his entrance. He rubbed his head against Eddie's sensitive hole, slowly circling. His breath grew steadily more and more ragged as Richie continued to tease him slowly, almost tortuously. 

"Goddamnit would you just fucking put it in—_ holyfuckingshitrichie. _" 

Eddie's impatient words turned into a garbled mix of swears and moans as Richie's cock sunk in, slowly sliding forward until his thighs met his ass. They were frozen for a minute, Richie letting him get used to the stretch. For Eddie there was a dull pain that was different from the first time. He realized it was soreness from their romp the night before, and he felt some kind of thrilling satisfaction in that. He loved the way Richie felt inside him, stretching him out and filling him up. The fire in his gut curled higher and higher and his erection throbbed. 

"Fuck you're so _ fucking tight _ , _ " _ Richie panted, hands gripping Eddie's hips. 

Their eyes found each other again, and Richie pulled himself out about halfway. Then his pelvis began to rock back and forth, slowly at first but gradually picking up the pace. Eddie’s moans were driving him wild, and it was all he could do to keep himself from pounding into him with abandon, not wanting to hurt him. But then Eddie’s was asking him—no, _ begging _him—to go faster, the words ripping from his mouth with pure need. Richie was more than happy to oblige, hips flying as he plowed into him. Eddie’s legs curled around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. He leaned over the smaller man, one hand reaching down to grip his cock to stroke up and down in rhythm with his thrusting. 

“God, _ fuck, _Richie, please don’t stop.” 

Richie pressed his lips against Eddie’s, swallowing the muffled moaning that followed as the angle of his hips changed. His cock was sinking somehow deeper than before, finally hitting his prostate with each thrust, sending shockwaves of pure pleasure through Eddie’s entire being. And then Richie’s mouth was at his neck, biting and sucking, and Eddie was ready to drown in this sea of unadulterated bliss. He grinded his own hips down, wanting to take Richie in as far as possible. He was moaning Eddie’s name into his shoulder now, over and over like some kind of desperate prayer. His hips and hand flew in unison, and Eddie’s orgasm was close now, the heat in his groin just about to spill over the edge. 

“Richie, fuck, I’m gonna—”

"Come on, Eds, cum for me," Richie muttered into his ear. 

His arms wrapped around Richie’s neck, the nails of his right hand digging into the flesh of his shoulder as his back arched. Their bodies were all but pressed against each other, Richie’s hand still working Eddie’s cock between them as he came. His semen shot up, splashing across the taller man’s neck and jaw. Eddie continued to moan and pant as Richie stroked him through the aftershock, hips still pounding furiously. And then he was suddenly pulling out, hand flying to his own cock. His orgasm ripped through him, hard and intense, his entire body going rigid for a glorious moment as his seed arched through the air, landing perfectly on Eddie's chest. 

And then it was over. Richie collapsed next to Eddie, who had slumped into the bed, chest heaving up and down. Their hands found each other, intertwining while they caught their breath. Eddie felt Richie's lips press against his crown and stay there. 

"You look so hot with my cum on your chest," he said, hoarse voice barely above a whisper. 

Eddie turned his head and observed his own fluid all over Richie's neck. 

"You're not so bad yourself," he conceded.

"We should probably take a bath." 

"Probably." 

But they didn't move, neither of them willing to break away first. Eddie leaned into Richie's chest, reveling in the thick, curly hair that grew there. He stared it for a long while, until he was evenutaly not really seeing. Those demons that had been lingering around the edges of his mind since leaving Derry were beginning to finally close in, no matter how hard Eddie tried to force them out. He wanted so badly to continue to enjoy this moment, to hang on to that bliss that he had been swimming in just minutes before, but it all came crashing down on him 

_ (i'll suck your cock for a quarter kid) _

_ (STICK NAILS IN THE EYES OF FAGOTS (FOR GOD!)) _

_ (I TOLD you not to leave me, and now you’re missing an arm and now you’re GAY) _

_ (god has punished all of those sinners by giving them AIDS and YOU will get AIDS too if you even THINK about touching another boy) _

and then he was crying. Hot, heavy tears spilled onto Richie's chest for a second before Eddie turned away from him, curling up as sobs wracked his body. 

“Eds, hey—what’s wrong?” Richie sounded alarmed as he shot up, arms reaching out to wrap around him, holding him close as he shook. 

Eddie wanted to answer, to assure Richie that he was fine—even though that was a lie—but his throat had tightened to the size of a pinhole and he was struggling to steady his breathing. The terrible memories threatened to consume him, filling him with so much shame. He felt like he was thirteen years old again, staring at the men in his mother’s Sears Catalogue, knowing that it was wrong, but being unable to look away from those hard jawlines, their chiseled stomachs, those hairy chests. He remembered his mother 's face after finding the pages he had hidden under his bed from the men’s underwear section, the horrified, disgusted look she gave him during that horrible conversation about AIDS that had terrified him to his very core. 

Eddie thought of what Myra would say when she found out, how she would judge him. He thought of every time they’d had sex, how it had never really been right, how he had never really enjoyed it. He thought of how she would finally understand why it had been so hard for him to perform. _ Because I’m not normal. _ The tears ran even harder. 

“Eds, please, talk to me. I can’t—I don’t like seeing you like this. Let me _ help,” _Richie pleaded lightly, pulling him closer. 

Eddie focused on Richie’s warmth, wanting to be consumed by it again, but that desire just made him feel even worse. 

“I—I just—isn’t this _ wrong?” _he finally spluttered, barely able to get the words out over the heaving of his chest. 

“Eddie. Eds. Listen to me. Does this feel wrong to you?” Richie’s next words were firm. “‘Cause I don’t know about you, but I think this—” His grip tightened as he squeezed Eddie closer to him. “—feels pretty damn right.” 

Eddie concentrated on Richie’s steady breathing, his own chest gradually falling into the same rhythm. He couldn’t deny that there was truth to his words; being this close to Richie, being cradled in his arms, felt more right than he had ever been with Myra. But her voice and his mother’s echoed in his head in a terrible cacophony, filling him with doubt. He hated himself for this; all those years, he had always been searching for something—searching for _ someone _ —to fill that hollow space inside that threatened to devour him whole. Myra sure as hell wasn't that person. Turns out, Eddie had already found him long ago, at the tender age of eleven. Against all odds, Richie had somehow found his way back into his life, and now they could finally be together. For the first time in his adult life, Eddie felt whole. Nevertheless, he still couldn't shake the feeling that it just wasn't right, that it was _ dirty. _

"I mean—isn't this a sin?" Eddie asked quietly. 

Richie's laugh was soft, but understanding. His thumb rubbed comforting circles his skin.

"Where are we, the Westboro Baptist Church? It's 2016, times have changed since we were kids, dude."

Eddie relaxed a little in his grip, but didn't respond. Richie sighed and continued: 

"I know how you're feeling, Eds. Growing up gay isn't easy, especially in a place like Derry. Hell, I'm still in the closet myself. All of my standup is about how much I love huge tits and eating pussy. So believe me when I tell you, I know what it's like to want to run away from these feelings." He paused, and his voice sounded a little choked as he went on. "But I'm so _ tired _of running. Aren't you?" 

Eddie nodded, unable to speak. Part of him wanted to accept this all _ so bad _, to live this happy life with Richie, to love him and be loved back. But there was another part of him that was embedded deep inside, screaming that he didn't deserve this, that he wasn't worthy of this kind of love. He buried that voice, focusing on Richie's instead. 

"Your mom did a fucking number on you. And apparently, so did your wife. Don't let them stop you from being happy. Remember what I told you in the sewers: you're braver than you think."

Eddie slowly turned to face Richie, cheeks streaked with tearstains. 

"I love you so fucking much," he said hoarsely, fixing him with an intense stare. 

"I love you too, Eddie Spaghetti." 

He rolled his eyes, but a watery smile broke across his face as he replied, _ "Don't _fucking call me that, Trashmouth." 

"Say what you want about my Trashmouth, but it gets the job done." He threw him that suggestive look again, brows jumping up and down. "And now I think it's time we took that bath. Your cum pretty much dried down and I can barely move my neck." 

"Beep beep, Richie." 

They finally extracted themselves from the bed. Richie took his hand and led him into the bathroom. He plugged the drain and ran the bathwater, making sure not to make it too hot for Eddie's sensitive arm. As easy as it would have been to shower, Eddie was secretly glad that he was confined to baths while he waited on his wound to heal fully. After Derry, it would be a while before he could take a shower without Pennywise flashing horrifyingly across his mind. 

Eddie took the hand that Richie offered gratefully, carefully lowering himself into the warm water. He sat gingerly—ass still sore from their love-making—and pulled his knees up toward his chest. He kept kept his left arm elevated and away from the water, resting it on the rim of the tub; he would clean it later with the special antibacterial wash he'd been given at the hospital. Richie was soon sinking into the large tub as well, opposite of where Eddie sat. His long legs settled on either side of his thighs, bent slightly so his knees poked through the water. He dipped his head under for a quick moment, gasping slightly as he came up, hair plastered to the sides of his face. 

Eddie thought he looked beautiful then, and even more beautiful as he grabbed the hotel soap and scrubbed the dried semen off his neck and chin. Richie caught him staring and shot him a wink. 

"Take a picture, Kaspbrak, it'll last longer." 

Eddie wanted to tell him to fuck off, but instead found himself saying in a low, serious voice, "Can I ask you something, Rich?"

"You just did." 

Eddie exhaled sharply through his nose, eyebrows contracting and nostrils flaring in annoyance. It was Richie's turn to think of how absolutely beautiful he looked at that moment. He grinned as Eddie snatched the bar of soap away from him, cleaning off his chest. 

"C'mon, man, I'm being serious here." Eddie took a deep breath, meeting his own eyes that reflected distortedly in the bathwater. He set the soap down. "I'm not the first guy you've ever, uh, _ done it _with, am I?" 

Richie's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his lips parting slightly. 

"Well—uh—nope, not really," he answered truthfully. "I mean, there hasn't be a lot; I could probably count them on one hand, to be honest. But no, you're not the first." He suddenly sounded nervous. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No," Eddie said quickly. "I was just...wondering." 

There was a pregnant pause. 

"So, uh, is gay sex always _ that good?" _

Richie laughed out loud. 

"Honestly? No. It's never been that good for me. With anyone." 

"Oh, thank God. I thought I was the only one." Another pause. The next words came out slowly, quietly, as if Eddie could barely stand to say them out loud. "The only other person I've ever been with was Myra." 

"You gotta be fucking kidding me. The _ only _one? Not even in college?" 

"I fucking wish I was kidding. I just...never really wanted to. I wasn't attracted to any women I met, and I sure as hell wasn't going to approach any men. I guess I never gave myself the opportunity. I thought I would die a fucking virgin, and I was kind of okay with that. But you know my mom, all she wanted was to see me settle down and give her some grandkids. She introduced me to Myra, and she was nice enough, and I just wanted to see my mom happy, you know? So I went out with her. Somehow a whole fucking year had passed, and then another. Even while we dated, I didn't want to touch her; I couldn't stand the fucking thought of it. Kept telling her I was saving myself for marriage." Eddie let out a derisive snort. "And before I knew it, we were engaged. I'm still not quite sure how _ that _shit happened. I put off having sex with her as long as I could, but then we were married and I didn't have any other excuses. Our honeymoon was fucking nightmare."

Eddie was glaring bitterly at the water now. Richie wanted nothing more than to take Eddie into his arms again, to hold him and assure him he'd never have to go through that shit again. But he kept his distance, knowing Eddie wouldn't take well to what could come off as pity. 

"Goddamn, Eds. I...I'm so sorry." 

"You don't have to be sorry." Eddie licked his lips, staring Richie straight in the eye. "You showed me something that I never even considered. I never knew sex could feel so _ good _ . With Myra it was always like some fucking chore, I hated it. But with you...it's so fucking _ different." _

"I mean, I always knew I had a magic dick." Richie finally earned a smile from Eddie, along with an endearing eyeroll and head shake. "For real though, I think I know what you mean. I've had my fair share of fucks, mostly because I felt like I _ had _ to, you know? Like it was just a part of life I had to accept. People expected it, so I did it. But it never really felt that great, and it definitely didn't feel _ right. _ There was always something that was missing. And then last night...and this morning...that was something else. That—that was _ it." _

The relief to be able to talk to someone about these things—to someone who _ knew— _was indescribable. Eddie's body, which had been taut and rigid, visibly relaxed into the warm water. His right hand came down and rested on Richie's shin, gripping tightly. The position they had taken in the bathtub very suddenly reminded him of the hammock they used to share in the clubhouse, back when they were clueless kids. His grin widened. The voices of his mother and Myra had finally quieted in his head, and he took in a deep, contented breath. 

"So this is it, huh?" he said quietly after a beat. "You and me?" 

"You and me," Richie confirmed. The smile that lit his entire face was just about the most beautiful thing Eddie had ever seen in his life. 

"Hey, Rich?" 

"Yeah, Eds?" 

"I fucking love you, dickwad."

"I love you more, asshole." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.s. I've decided to make the rest of this fix like 70-80% smut so....yeah...enjoy lol  
Also angst. So much angst. It'll be over soon (hopefully)
> 
> Also I need a beta for this fic! So if ur interested in reading the updates before they post hmu lol!! My tumblr is hunsenabequeer if anyone interested wants to dm me


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